I Asked To Go To Dinner You Thought I Said Torture
by dragonnan
Summary: Shawn faces the fight of his life against a vicious and sadistic couple.
1. I'm Getting Chills

He tried to breathe, but could only open and close his mouth helplessly as his lungs obnoxiously refused to operate. While he waited, somewhat desperately, for his automatic functions to become automatic again, he took the time to ponder a few things. One of the most immediate was what happened to his shirt. He was certain he'd arrived here wearing one. As the invisible coils around his chest finally started to loosen, he pulled in a painful breath. Coughing roughly, he pondered the second thing on his mind. Why did every girl he meet lately, and show an interest in, end up wanting him dead? He pushed that question away for later consideration when he was forced to swiftly roll to the side. Just in time too, that stiletto looked sharp! Holding his midsection, he gathered his feet beneath himself and lunged to the side to avoid the tire iron swinging towards his head. Regretfully, that lined him up perfectly for the pipe. The thick metal connected with his jaw, sending him right back to his previous attacker. This time, when the tire iron swung his way, he couldn't dodge. It struck him just to the left of his temple. Mercifully, that meant he didn't have to be awake for the rest of it.

0o0o0o0

His arm felt wet.

Curling his fingers, Shawn felt small pebbles moving beneath his hand. He shivered as the wind kicked up spray, peppering him with cold water. He could hear the ocean, the sound of the waves as they hit the shore was almost deafening. And it was cold.

As he carefully moved his arms back, he felt the drag of wet sand beneath them. Okay, definitely established he was by the ocean. Though, considering how many miles of beaches there were in California alone, where he _was_, was a relative answer.

Finally, he opened his eyes… barely. His whole face ached. It even hurt just looking around. Not even that trip to Mexico had been this bad. Not even the second one. The sun wasn't up yet, and he shivered in the night air. The glow from the moon and stars was the only illumination he had. Searching around himself, he groaned. The patch of sand he occupied had obviously started life as a landfill. In his immediate line of sight he could see spent cigarettes, beer cans, a dirty shoe, and…. ew… a used condom. Crispy brown grass grew in tufts nearby, and the closest thing resembling intelligent life was a small blue crab that seemed to be eyeing him hungrily. He tried to bare his teeth at the tiny creature, but ended up wincing instead. Amazingly, it appeared his jaw wasn't broken… and even better, he thought, probing with his tongue, he seemed to have all his teeth. Apparently realizing its prey wasn't quite dead yet, the little crab scurried through the scrub grass and back towards the ocean. Shawn watched it vanish from sight, then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position… and swore. His head pounded even worse, but what made him curse was the heavy metal chain. It was attached to a thick cuff around his right ankle. The other end, from what he could see, ran across the six or seven feet of beach that separated him from the ocean and disappeared in the waves. He wasn't sure what it was attached to, but when he tried pulling the chain, there wasn't even a fraction of give. Looking behind himself, he cursed again. A wall of rock met his eyes. As a slap of icy wind struck him, Shawn shivered violently. Had he thought it was cold? Cold was an afternoon sitting by the fireplace wearing a knitted sweater and eating chowder. This was something else entirely. Cold didn't drive blades of ice through your skin, leaving you shuddering in their wake. Cold didn't make you wish you'd stayed a little longer in that argument with your dad, just because his house was warm. Cold didn't make you bargain with whatever deity was listening to just get on with the whole global warming business already.

Shawn curled into himself, tucking his hands under his bare arms as he faced away from the water. Another crash of waves and another rain of frozen spray left him gasping in quick breaths. Okay, if he lived, he was swearing off women for good.

Okay, maybe not Jules… she had yet to try to kill him.

And maybe not that cute little barista at the coffee shop.

For that matter, was he really ready for celibacy? Maybe just a background check… Something struck his shoulder and Shawn lurched back, half-stumbling, to land on his butt. A figure was standing above him. The person was in shadow, so he couldn't make out any features. But who cared anyway! With luck, he had a cup of coffee and an extra parka.

"Who are you… I need some help…"

The figure stepped down the rocks lightly, finally stopping amidst the litter of beer cans.

"I see you made it through the last two hours okay."

Shawn swallowed, staring up at the face. "I see you missed me, Erin." He replied jovially, while feeling around himself for any kind of weapon. He'd even take the crab if he could find it.

Erin dropped to her haunches, rolling a couple of small stones in her fingers. "You know, seeing you chained an shirtless makes me wish I'd carried our relationship just a little further… but then, that would only have been satisfying for me. And I really hate leaving Andrew out of my recreation."

Shawn saw her eyes flick to a point just beyond him. The implication came seconds too late as something smashed into his left shoulder. He yelped as his face hit the sand. Before he could even start to move, two gorilla-like hands had latched around his throat. He grasped the two meaty wrists, trying to dig his fingers into the soft flesh below the palms. Kicking out wildly, he connected with a shin that felt like a bar of iron. In response, he was dragged by his neck until he felt his head plunged under the water.

It was agonizing! He clamped his lips and eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream as his lungs demanded air. He struggled more fiercely, forgetting, in his panic, what his father had taught him about self-defense. The fingers on his neck didn't tighten, but merely held him in place as he fought back fiercely… and quickly started to weaken. The chill had numbed his fingers to the point he couldn't even feel them any more. The lack of oxygen left him lightheaded, and sapped the strength from his body. He had to breathe… NOW! With the last of his reserves, he released the wrists holding his throat, and clawed at the face above him. The result was instantaneous. The hold on his throat vanished, and he quickly rolled back to the sand, choking harshly as he wrapped his hands around his chest. The relief was short-lived, though, as a pointed toe drove into his side.

"Little bastard!" Screamed an outraged voice. Shawn grunted as fell, trying to crawl away from the repeated kicks. He only managed a short distance before he was stopped by the chain. And then it was over. He squinted up at Erin, trying to read past the fury that was surging behind her eyes. He was sickened by what he saw. She was… aroused! He jerked back as she knelt by him, reaching out to trace a finger down his cheek.

"Hey, y-y-you two p-probably want to be al-alone… I c-c-could just go if-if you w-w-want the r-room…"

His attempted humor probably would have been more convincing if his teeth weren't chattering so badly. Erin chuckled, leaning in closer. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it!"

Okay, he'd never been afraid of a little kinkiness… he did own a pair of handcuffs after all. But getting the crap kicked out of him didn't qualify as foreplay as far as he was concerned. And the sight of her bull-like partner in the background certainly didn't add to the romance either. Apparently she noticed the look of disgust in his eyes because she suddenly drew back and slapped him across his already aching jaw. Shawn groaned as he caressed his aching face. For her part, Erin stood and walked slowly back to her companion. Andrew greeted her with a heated kiss. Then, to Shawn's utter revulsion, he

began removing his clothes. Turning away quickly, Shawn admitted that having a photographic memory, at times, could be very, very unpleasant.

0o0o0o0


	2. I Love What You've Done With The Place

Twenty minutes passed before the amorous couple finally wrapped up business. The whole time, Shawn had done his best to focus on the sounds of the waves and the muted blast from distant ships. Some things just couldn't be drowned out though. Though by no means a prude, his face still felt hot by the end of their little interlude. Or maybe it was just wind-burn. Actually, now that he thought about it, his whole body was starting to feel a bit warmer. He'd stopped shivering at any rate. He supposed, if Gus were here, he'd tell him something about early onset hypothermia or something. Personally, Shawn couldn't give a damn. In fact, he felt he could just drop on his side and take a nice nap…

He jerked as something crushed his hand. Shaken violently from his stupor, Shawn ground out a curse as he pulled back his hand from beneath Andrew's heel. Behind the behemoth, Erin stood, smiling sweetly. "Oh my gosh, I totally lost track of time! You must be freezing!"

Shawn could hardly move, much less put up a fight as Andrew reached out swiftly and clasped both his wrists in one giant paw. Erin, meanwhile, had produced a key, and swiftly removed the manacle from his ankle.

"You know," she continued, smiling benignly, "I really wanted to keep you out here till the tide rose. But Andrew insisted you wouldn't last that long. He can be such a party pooper, can't he?"

Shawn abstained from responding, choosing instead to study every move the couple made as he was hauled roughly off his feet and carried, like a sack of grain, to the waiting truck. He clenched his teeth together as Andrew dropped him into the box. Unfortunately, he'd managed to land on his left side, and his shoulder was protesting the move, loudly. There wasn't time to wallow in pain, however, as Andrew produced a roll of duct tape and skillfully bound his wrists and ankles.

"You k-know... that's g-g-gonna hurt like a b-b-bitch when you t-tear that o-o-off again."

Andrew didn't respond, but Erin smiled at the suggestion. "Sounds stimulating. But trust me, I have far more exciting activities in mind. Sweetheart, you are just going to love it!"

Shawn wasn't certain if she was addressing Andrew or himself, but either way, he really didn't like where this was going. Andrew had finished with the tape on his limbs, and he used a final piece on Shawn's mouth. That accomplished, he grabbed a heavy dropcloth and draped it over Shawn's body. Through the fabric, Shawn could hear the two walking back to the cab and getting in. A moment later, the engine kicked over angrily, shaking the frame of the truck. A minute later and they were on the move. Though blessedly cut off from the wind, the metal beneath Shawn's back was still cold. And he was shivering worse than ever. He knew it would take more than getting off the beach to restore his body heat, and the drop-cloth just wasn't up to the task. The canvas over his head rippled as the truck drove onward. However, Andrew must have secured it well, because it remained firmly in place over Shawn's body. That didn't prevent him from trying to kick it off though. If he could just manage to get out from under it somehow… and if he could catch the notice of another driver… or a pedestrian… And then the truck suddenly slammed to a stop, throwing Shawn into the front of the box. He heard the driver's side door open, and heavy footsteps walk around to the back. The tailgate dropped down with a squeal and a bang. Then, a hand grasped his ankles from beneath the canvas and yanked him backward. The canvas flipped back, and Shawn had just seconds to curl away as Andrew began beating him with his fists- striking him furiously… and without a sound. Andrew wasn't particular where he struck, but he seemed to favor Shawn's exposed right side. At one point, Shawn heard a dull crack, and hot pain shot out from the point of impact. He tried to scream, but his cries were muted through the tape over his mouth. This seemed to satisfy Andrew, however, as the attack stopped immediately after that. The canvas was secured again, and the tailgate slammed back into place. Shortly after that, they were under way once more. Shawn could only lie in the same position, breathlessly stiffening his body as the truck rumbled down the road. That snap he'd heard had to have been a rib… and having cracked a few in his lifetime, that sort of pain wasn't a stranger to him. That didn't mean he hurt any less through familiarity though. That was like saying dinner with his father became less awkward because it happened regularly.

… Actually, that was a bad example. Lately, dinner with dad HAD gotten a little less tense. Shawn wasn't completely sure, but it seemed to have been around the time he'd solved the case his dad had asked him to work on. Wow, had THAT been out of the blue! Seriously, he'd never have thought his dad would ever, in a katrillion years, ask him to help him do anything… much less in a professional capacity. And the expression on Henry's face when he…

The truck came to a stop, cutting off Shawn's musings mid-ramble. He tried to slide away from the tailgate, but the least bit of movement left him breathless. Instead, he decided to lie extremely still and allow Andrew to rip away the tarp and grab his ankles again. He really wasn't looking forward to this next part. However, before he could be moved farther, Erin appeared at the back of the truck. Shawn was more worried about the expression of glee that she wore than the sight of Andrew cracking his knuckles. Erin hauled herself into the back of the truck and flipped her sun-kissed hair over her shoulder. If anything, her grin grew larger. "Hey babe, how was the ride?" Without warning, she reached out and tore away the tape on his mouth.

"Gaahhhh-crap! You know, I've been told that can severely damage the delicate skin on the lips. And trust me, in spite of our experiences together, I still plan to use mine again… on someone else… preferably someone sane…"

Erin ignored his protests, patting his lightly on the cheek. As she slid out of the truck again, she shot him another disturbing smile. "Sorry, but I just didn't want anything to get in the way."

Shawn frowned. "Get in the way of wha… AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!" He screamed as Andrew ripped him from the truck and threw him to the ground. For the second time in as many minutes, he felt himself frozen in pain. However, he was given no time to recover as Andrew pulled him off the ground and dropped him on his enormous shoulder. This time, he couldn't even whimper… it just hurt too much. Through hooded eyes, he saw a look of disappointment flash through Erin's eyes, and for the first time since second grade, he felt the urge to punch a girl. Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his side, Shawn examined everything within his vision. The truck was parked in a dirt lot at the back of a shabby split-level. There was a paved street at the end of a short drive, and Shawn could just make out the back of an x shaped sign, and a set of railroad tracks beyond it. Then, Erin was back in his line of sight, and her palm was swinging towards his face. He jerked back, but her nails still raked his cheek.

"I suggest you keep your eyes down… or lose them."

Shawn worked his jaw, shutting his eyes tightly. "With that sort motivation how could I possibly argue?" Of course, she hadn't said anything to him about using his other senses. He could still hear the ocean, meaning they couldn't be far from the coast. And there was the steady rumble of traffic, meaning the interstate couldn't be far. And he could smell Italian… probably a pizza delivery place; a regular restaurant wouldn't start their dinner menu until later in the day. He heard a door open, and then they were proceeding inside. He hazarded a peek and saw Erin closing the heavy oak door. As she turned back around, he screwed his eyes shut quickly. He heard them walk across a large, thickly carpeted room. There was another door at the opposite end, which required a key to open it. A flip of a switch, and they were headed down a flight of wooden stairs, each one squeaking distinctively. There was yet another door at the bottom of the stairs, and another lock. On the other side of the door, the temperature dropped a few degrees, and Shawn started shivering almost immediately. He hadn't even noticed when his body had begun to warm up. He heard the hum of fluorescent bulbs coming to life, and then he was roaring through clenched teeth as his body was dropped, again, to the ground. This was getting way, way old.

"Let me guess", he gasped when he could finally talk. "This is where you b-bring in the thumb screws right?"

Erin giggled from somewhere to his left. "Oh, thumb screws are so 'Godfather' don't you think? Trust me, I can be far more creative than that. Oh, and you can open your eyes now."

Shawn opened his lids slowly, breathing shallowly to minimize the movement of his ribs. It didn't really seem to be helping much. It did confirm his side of a debate though… intense pain in one area… really didn't make you forget pain in other areas. In spite of the line of fire burning across his midsection, his face still ached miserably. Gus definitely owed him five bucks- he had this theory beat. A glance at Andrew had him quickly altering his choice of expression. Beat wasn't a word he even wanted to think around that guy. Noticing his look, Andrew grimaced. Or… wait… maybe it was a smile. It was really hard to tell in this light. A pair of bare feet walked into his line of vision, and Erin was by his side once more. She'd removed her coat, revealing a dark shirt and jeans still peppered with sand.

"Sweets, could you get set up? I want to hit the shower fast before we get started. Oh, and if you get done in time, you can join me!" She trailed her finger along Andrew's jaw. Then, giving Shawn a heated glance, she walked from the room. Now Shawn was certain Andrew was smiling.

"Dude, you gonna wait on that? Seriously? You know, I could just leave you two alone and-AAAAHHGGGGG!" Andrew's boot felt like it went all the way through to the other side. He wasn't exactly grateful it was the opposite side from his busted rib… but he was pretty sure he'd be bawling if it hadn't been. Andrew stepped over him and walked a few feet to the left. He heard something heavy being shifted around, and then Andrew was back. Shawn bit his lip, stifling his cries as best as he could as he was manhandled upright and dropped into a wooden chair. Producing a large knife, Andrew sawed through the tape at his wrists and ankles. Shawn was just preparing to kick the gorilla in his throat when he felt something pointy at his jaw line.

"I just remembered, you're kinda feisty… and I wouldn't want the fun to start too early." Whispered Erin close to his ear. Andrew hadn't even paused in his work, and Shawn was soon bound to the chair with more tape at his ankles, and a pair of handcuffs trapping his wrists behind the wooden chair back. As soon as he was secured, Erin removed the small blade and walked around to the front. "You just relax for a bit… you need a break. Andrew and I will be back later. If you need us for anything… just give a shout." Winking, she took Andrew by the hand and led him from the room.

Shawn just wanted to curl up; the position he was in pulled agonizingly at his side. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to relieve it. Instead, he decided to employ the same coping method that he used when Gus started describing the new oral acne medication on the market. An image of the Hawaiian coastline firmly in place, Shawn began to study his new digs. Straight ahead were two more rooms, dividing up the basement. Both had their doors firmly shut, so he could only guess at what they contained. However, judging from the pipes running across the ceiling, it was a fair bet that the right-hand room was a bathroom. On his right side was a locked cabinet, and Shawn suppressed a shudder at the sight of it. It screamed "toy closet". There was a drain in the middle of the floor, the drain guard removed leaving just a hole. Images of large rats and insects started to invade his inner luau, so he quickly turned his head to the left… and gasped in astonishment. A small table stood where he'd first come in… and on it, its plastic casing aged and stained, sat a phone!


	3. Actually, I Consider Myself A Ladies Man

_**Don't be a defeatist!**_

Why was it, whenever he was getting ready for a nice long pout, his dad's voice invariably chose that time to invade his mind?

_I'm not a defeatist!_ He responded mentally, adding a mental crossed arms stance to punctuate his statement. In response, he received a mental replay of his previous thought.

_…this position is pulling agonizingly at my side. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do to relieve it…_

_**That sound like someone who's still trying?**_

Shawn actually opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if his father was actually in the room berating him.

Finally, he tilted his head to the side. _Point taken._

Brushing aside the inner argument, he glanced back at the door.

Thirty minutes, give or take… certainly no less than that, considering their activities just short of an hour ago… Shawn grimaced, desperately wishing for some mental bleach to erase that particular memory. Even watching Gus puke up a half-eaten ham and mustard sandwich in eighth grade was a better topic to dwell on. Wait… topic? Or was that more of a plot? Storyline? At any rate, certainly more appetizing. And why the hell was that making his stomach rumble? No matter, phone first, then James Bond-like escape, then maybe at stop at that pizza place before hitching a ride to the station. Yep, a sound plan. Oh wait, remove the handcuffs first.

Shawn had learned a lot from his father growing up. How to sneak through a house undetected, how to cover his tracks, how to at least pretend he was grateful for the food on his plate even though he hated his dad's black bean and Mexican rice goulash… and how to slip out of handcuffs. The cuffs hit the floor behind him with a solid clunk. It took more time to bend down, while chewing through his lip, to tear off the duct tape. He spent another minute or two just catching his breath while holding his side. Damn… this really sucked!

And he didn't have time to keep putting it off.

His hand shook where it gripped the arm of the chair. Pulling strenuously, he gained his feet. His legs wobbled for a second, and then he was lurching for the little table. His hand was actually holding the receiver midway to his ear when he realized he'd not heard two specific sounds. A dial tone- which would have been noticeable even at this distance, and the distinct squeak-thud of someone ascending the wooden staircase behind the door he was leaning against.

Dropping the phone, he lunged to brace himself against the door, and was blasted back as the door exploded open instead. Shawn hit the concrete floor behind the chair, and immediately tried to scramble to his feet. Andrew was on him in seconds, and Shawn screamed mutely as a fist buried itself in his gut. Another blow struck his already abused right shoulder, while the previous fist drew back to strike his face. Acting without thought, Shawn clawed out with his right hand… and struck something metal. As Andrew's fist made its descent, Shawn twisted fast, and painfully, to avoid the strike. Andrew grunted at his knuckles connected with the unyielding floor. In the same moment, Shawn clapped a cuff around his left ankle, and the other cuff around a crossbeam on the wooden chair. Andrew dove for him, but Shawn lurched aside just in time… and then whirled, expecting to get brained from behind.

Erin just stood by the door… smiling. In one hand, she twirled the keys to the handcuffs. In the other, she held a snub-nosed revolver.

"I gotta say… that was hot." Her smile grew to reveal small even teeth. "I just love watching to guys rolling around together. Tell me, do prefer the top or the bottom?"

Shawn chuckled suddenly. "I guess it all depends. Personally, I like to drive, but I'm willing to compromise if there's chocolate syrup involved."

Erin's grin grew larger. "Ah, you're finally getting a handle on our game!"

_Wait a minute… did I just step into something blindly…?_

His smile faltered as Erin stepped away from the door. Shawn backed away from her, simultaneously keeping his feet out of Andrew's reach. "Hey, you know, this is the thing. I really like you kids, you've been great hosts, and I'm sure you'll make a lot of money with this whole… kidnapping masseuse therapy thing you have going on… but I was advised by my doctor that I have to watch any activities that involve…you know… guys… doing that…"

Erin laughed lightly, stepping closer. Shawn backed up again, but was halted when his back hit the wall. Erin kept approaching until her body was pressed up against his. "Well now… I guess…" her hand touched his bare chest, and he flinched at the caress, "it all depends", the revolver brushed against his abdomen, "how quickly," she leaned in, licking his ear, "you can run."

Shawn stared at her, his eyes wide. She suddenly stepped away, holding the handcuff key aloft. "Or would you rather not put it off?" Her hand seemed to move slowly as she dropped her arm a little, then lofted it upward, releasing the key in the air. There was a glint of light striking the metal as it rotated in its flight. Andrew's palm reached out methodically to capture it in his heavy fist. And then Shawn's legs suddenly unfroze themselves. As Andrew leaned over to release the cuffs, Shawn bolted for the stairs, ignoring the screaming pain in his midsection. He was almost to the top when he heard the wooden chair being toppled. Throwing open the door at the top of the stairs, Shawn thudded across the carpet in the living room. He hit the oak door hard, and for one, horrified minute, thought it was locked. No, it was open, he was just pushing it instead of pulling! Gasping hard, he wrenched at it, barely noticing the two fingernails he split in the process. He could hear Andrew thundering after him, he had to be right on his heels! And already his body felt like giving out. Each breath burned like acid as he raced across the dirt driveway. A small stand of trees hedged in the foot of the drive, but surely Andrew would find him if he hid there! Head for the road, there had to be someone out! Still dark, but it must be nearing dawn… people would be waking up, getting ready for work… where the hell were the damn cars!? And what was up with the houses! The only residential structures he could see were a few distant apartments… not counting the scattering of shabby dwellings on this block; certainly not the sorts of places that would welcome a bare-chested bleeding maniac through their doors. If anything, they'd become involved as well… something he couldn't bear to risk… Shawn made a rapid course correction… and cried out hoarsely as something latched onto his waistline. He felt himself pulled back, and he immediately lunged with the motion, swinging his head back sharply. There was a CRACK, and the hand on his jeans loosened. Not even pausing to see what damage he may have caused, Shawn dug in his heels and ran for it.

He made it about one more block before his body forced him to stop. He felt like he was dying as his lungs practically begged for oxygen. And with each shuddering breath, his ribs shrieked in agony. His terror still pounded through him… but there was also the stirrings of anger. He could never handle fear well. Sure, irrational fear was actually kinda fun. Running from spooks… screaming at bodies… with Gus involved, it was a rush like he only got from riding a roller-coaster or leaping from a plane wearing a snowboard… which had earned him a broken ankle. But this… this… sickness he felt in his gut… Footsteps echoed down the street, and he felt his heart hammering in response. The retaining wall he was leaning against wasn't a shelter, he'd be spotted immediately. He had to go… he had to run!

His legs didn't want to move… they felt numb… dead. He'd never make it… but the thought of what would happen… how this game would end… he almost retched.

_**What are you doing! Focus! Think!**_

He never thought he's so desperately want his father nearby! The running steps were getting closer… his chance of escape was vanishing by the second…

_**Dammit Shawn… THINK!!**_

_What dad! What am I supposed to_… and then he remembered… something he'd noticed, but ignored because a fist had been smashing his insides at the time… but to get there, he had to move now!

Forcing his protesting limbs to move, trying to ignore the thudding feet coming ever closer, he fought against his panicked instincts and ran back across the street… towards the footsteps. At the last second, he dived behind a row of trash waiting to be picked up.

The footsteps closed….

Closed…

Closed…

….

And kept going…

Shawn dropped his head against the plastic bin behind him. Suddenly he chuckled, unable to restrain it. His teeth chattered- but he really didn't care. It was just so ludicrous! He'd started the night with plans to try out the new Thai place… maybe get some slightly heated necking… maybe even let this pretty girl take advantage of his vulnerability… And now he had her steroidal rouge elephant boyfriend looking to insert himself into that daydream instead. He laughed harder. Gus would never let him live this down!

_**Shawn!**_

_Sorry dad, this is seriously funny!_

_**Kid… come on son, snap out of it…**_

The gentleness of the request sobered him faster than any screamed order ever could have. He shivered painfully, his laughter drying up as the reality of what he was facing reasserted itself. In moments, even Optimus Prime would figure out he hadn't kept going. He had to move.

Dragging himself to his feet, he forced himself to breath deeply. At the moment, oxygen was more important than comfort. Actually, that was kind of a toss-up… but his body was gonna hurt whether he breathed or not.

Wrapping one arm around his waist, he headed back the way he had come.

0o0o0o0

Twenty minutes of weaving around parked cars. Twenty minutes of terrified panting, thinking that any moment he'd be caught. Twenty minutes of shivering with cold- desperately wishing for even a T-shirt. Twenty minutes of exhaustion, constricting pain, numb limbs, and rolling sweat. Several times he was convinced he heard something behind him… soft shuffling, hushed steps… but every time he whipped his head around, squinting in the darkness… there was nothing.

He really didn't need paranoia on top of everything else.

Finally… after feeling as though he'd stumbled his way across Santa Barbara and a few outlying towns… like Valencia and Los Angeles… Shawn found the building he'd detected earlier by… of all things, his nose. Apparently Gus wasn't the only one with a 'Super Smeller'. Something was missing, and to feel complete, he realized he'd have to take care of it alone. Forming both hands into fists, he smacked his knuckles together lightly. For some reason… that really didn't help at all…

And now he could add pathetic to his list.

Pinching his lips together, Shawn dragged himself onward. Most of the buildings he'd passed had been dark… their doors locked. The few with access had also looked abandoned, boarded up and sunken in. All except for the building before him, leaking the strong odor of soap into the air. Picking up his pace, he practically hurled himself through the doors of the Laundromat. It was empty of human life. The machines were all still, their doors sealed. There was a small office to the side where a supervisor should have been hanging out… but the lights were off, and the door locked. Great. Still, he hadn't really expected it to be quite that easy. And besides, his main reason for coming here was sitting in a darkened corner.

He rapped his knee against a table leg as he rushed to the back. Cursing, he hobbled to the small alcove housing the one thing he wanted even more desperately than pineapple. A phone.

He grabbed the receiver without hesitation, and almost sobbed to hear an actual dial tone. He didn't have change, but calling 911 didn't require it. It only took seconds to connect, and he was starting to speak when something that his brain had been politely asking him to consider started getting through.

Erin.

She had a pathological voyeuristic need that was fed by sadism.

And she'd never let Andrew carry out a masochistic attack unless she was there to watch…

The phone dropped from his fingers and he lurched away… and yelped as is shattered with the explosion of a gun.

Small shards of plastic peppered him as he jerked up his arms to protect his face. After a second, he let them drop. Erin was standing in the doorway, her gun hand hanging by her side. "Hmm, a Laundromat… a bit cliché, but to be honest… it kinda turns me on!"

Shawn's teeth were chattering again, but that didn't prevent him from adopting a little bravado. "I g-get the f-f-feeling a d-dead cock-r-roach would t-turn you o-o-on."

As usual, Erin was unaffected by his wit. It possibly could have something to do with the fact that he couldn't quit stuttering.

He really needed to find a shirt.

A pair of dry jeans wouldn't be bad either. He could even appreciate the irony of his current location.

And then his thoughts froze in his head.

He didn't even notice when his hands started to shake.

Gasping in sudden panic, he felt his stomach try to crawl out his throat.

Erin stepped aside… sliding the revolver into her waistband.

Andrew filled the doorway, his dark hair plastered with sweat, his muscular arms hanging loose at his sides, his chest moving in and out evenly…

And he was grinning.


	4. Hold On You Plan To Do What Now?

_"911 operator, what is your emergency?"_

_"**My name is Shawn Spencer, I've been kidnapped…"**_

_"Sir, can you tell me where you… sir… sir?"_

There was a static-y pop, and the recording ended. Lassiter looked up sharply at the Chief. "How long ago did this come through?"

"Dispatch picked it up three minutes before I called you- if Lorrie Hubbard hadn't been working the switchboard, we may not have heard it."

Lassiter frowned. "Isn't Lorrie the one that Spencer…"

Vick nodded. "Yes, and she called me immediately. We need to move. It's been twenty-four minutes since he was cut off, and given the sound right at the end, we can't waste any time. 911 back-tracked the number to a Laundromat on Wright and 37th."

Lassiter nodded. "I'll call O'Hara, have her meet us there."

As they rushed out of Vick's office, she snapped out commands for additional units. Then, dashing out of the building, they made for their cruisers. Lassiter had his phone pressed to his ear as he slid into the driver's seat. Vick took the passenger's side, still speaking into her communicator. As they tore away from the precinct, Lassiter finally heard the line pick up on the other end. "This is O'Hara…"

"O'Hara, Lassiter- we have a situation…"

0o0o0o0

The pieces of plastic crunched under his feet as Shawn carefully stepped to the right. Andrew was… stalking him for lack of a better description. Actually, that description was pretty damn accurate. The larger man hunched his shoulders as he brushed past the rows of tables and chairs. His eyes remained fixed on Shawn, and Shawn did not like the intent he read there. Any trace of humor had vanished the moment he saw Andrew appear. Instead, he found himself experiencing a level of horror he didn't think was possible. And part of his mind was realizing he wouldn't be getting out of this.

Shawn pressed his back against the first of the washing units, ignoring the pain it caused. Andrew continued to advance, his grin expanding. In the doorway, Erin just watched, a fascinated expression twisting her features into something predatory. Shawn took another step, and another. And then, before he could catch himself, his foot skidded on a spilled parch of liquid detergent… and Andrew lunged.

Shawn's breath left him in a ragged gasp as he felt the giant body smash into him. He hit the floor hard, crying out as his abused flesh struck the solid tile. His instincts fled as he struggled, lashing out wildly with his fists. In the back of his mind, he could hear his father's voice trying to calm him, focus him… but it was muted, and fading. He felt chocked with terror.

And then it got worse.

Andrew caught one wrist in his hand, forcing it to the floor. With his other hand, he reached down… and started fumbling with the front of his jeans.

"Stop!!" Shawn barely recognized his own voice… didn't even notice the tears streaming down his face. He couldn't handle this… it was too much… it was too much!

_"**SHAWN!! Don't forget what I taught you!!"**_

His mind cleared just long enough, and with his free hand, he lashed out, connecting with Andrew's throat. As Andrew gagged, Shawn wrenched his other arm free. Punching hard, he caught Andrew in the ear, causing the man to roll to the side. This freed his legs, and he immediately jammed his knee up sharply. Andrew roared, dropping onto his back while he clutched himself in agony. Unfortunately, Erin chose this time to stop being a spectator as she leaped forward and twisted her fingers into Shawn's scalp. He yelled, reaching back to try to pry her hands away. She dug in her nails, twisting his hair violently. He tried to backpedal to relieve the pressure, then gasped as her pointed toe kicked him in the thigh. In sudden rage, he shoved himself back, dropping both of them to the floor. Her hands came free, along with more hair than he really wanted to donate. Panting, Shawn rolled onto his stomach, and felt his body slammed to the stained surface for the third time. Andrew breathed heavily in his ear as he secured Shawn's hands behind his back. Erin was standing shakily, her expression furious. Baring her teeth, she kicked out with her foot, striking Shawn in the cheek. He swallowed back a cry of pain, feeling the breath being crushed from his body by Andrew's weight. Flipping her hair back again, Erin reached into her back pocket and pulled out a flattened roll of duct tape.

"You were really skilled with those cuffs… very impressive. Obviously you're having trouble with this… and I really don't want Andrew to be damaged by anyone other than me. You understand… right?"

Not waiting for an answer, she quickly bound his hands. His legs were left free, which didn't matter anyhow… Andrew's bulk was enough to keep them immobilized.

And then Erin was standing, walking back to the doorway. Crossing her arms, she allowed her face to fall back into that heated, hungry look.

Andrew started touching him again. Running his hands down Shawn's bare sides. Shawn flinched, trying to throw off the caresses. "STOP! GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME!!"

Ignoring him, Andrew curled his fingers around Shawn's waistband.

And everything happened at once.

"SBPD- HANDS UP HANDS UP! GET OFF HIM, NOW! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!!"

Andrew's body was hauled away from him- people were filling the room, swarming over the two kidnappers, reaching for Shawn. And he broke, lurching away frantically as someone place a hand on his wrists. Someone else tried to grab his shoulders, and he reacted instinctively, ramming back his head. There was a shouted curse as he connected with something solid. The hands released him, and he pushed free of the crowd- backing into he was pressed into a corner. Some part of him knew he was freaking out in a highly irrational way. But he couldn't help it… he couldn't stop shaking.

"Okay, back off, get these people out of here!" He recognized Chief Vick's voice, but he remained where he was. Even as the other officers cleared out of the room… even as Detective Lassiter, a tissue pressed against his bleeding nose called for an ambulance, he couldn't relax. Vick was looking at him oddly, her expression a mixture of sadness and outrage. "Shawn, it's okay… let me help you…"

"No! No just… I'm fine, just let me… let me t-talk to my dad… just let me talk to my dad, okay? I'm alright, I just need to talk to my dad…"

Vick held up both hands, backing away again. Stopping near the door, she pulled out her phone. Then, giving Shawn a final look, she dialed.

0o0o0o0

Henry yawned, stretching his arms over his head. Seven am, like clockwork. He never needed an alarm to wake up, he'd been getting up at this time for the past thirty-five years. Shawn, on the other hand, usually classified the alarm as round one. As far as Henry could remember, he'd never been able to get Shawn out of bed after only a single try. As he recalled, nine was the minimum requirement…

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he yawned again, then paused. His cell phone started ringing, and it was playing the "Chicken Dance"… again.

"Shawn…" He muttered wearily, hitting the answer button quickly to cut off the song.

"Hello… Karen, what…" He was grateful to be sitting as he listened. His hands were shaking by the time she stopped reporting. Standing quickly, Henry moved to the dresser and grabbed a pair of jeans. "Okay, I'm on my way." Snapping the phone shut, he dressed rapidly. On his way to the truck, he pulled out his phone again. Someone needed to call Gus.

0o0o0o0

The ambulance was on the scene by the time he arrived. Several officers were milling about outside, but they seemed to just be taking up space. Brushing past them, Henry shoved through the door… and stopped. Lassiter and O'Hara stood near the entrance, the former pinching his nose, his left eye sporting a healthy bruise. Juliet hovered next to him, splitting her attention between her partner and the activity at the back of the Laundromat. Karen stood further in, her eyes at the far back corner of the room… staring at…

"Shawn."

His son was slumped against the wall, his hands behind his back. Even from here, Henry could see his shoulders shaking violently. Karen had been trying to get close to him, but at Henry's voice, she glanced over her shoulder, then stepped away. Putting everyone else out of his mind, Henry approached his son.

"Shawn." He said again, his voice a little steadier than it had been seconds before. Shawn lifted his head, and Henry had to bite back a shocked exclamation at the sight of his battered face.

"Hey dad." Shawn smiled wearily, sliding down a little more. Henry took another step closer, but stopped when Shawn tensed again.

"Kid, why don't you let me take off those binding huh?"

Shawn smiled, but with no trace of humor. It was painful to watch. "I don't know, I was kinda getting used to this you know? It could be a whole new fad." His body was shivering uncontrollably, sending a spike of fear through Henry's gut.

"I admit, it's a good look, but it might make it hard to put on a shirt- and you look a little chilly." Shawn looked at him steadily, his breathing fast. Finally he nodded, apparently acknowledging the logic of the suggestion. Glancing over his shoulder, Henry gave Karen a look. She'd been close enough to hear the conversation, and she quickly left to retrieve something warm. Turning back to his son, Henry saw that Shawn's eyes were blinking heavily. "Let's get you out of here, okay?"

Shawn nodded again. Henry started to reach for him when Shawn's body suddenly started shaking harder. A strangled sob broke from him, and then he was pressed against Henry's chest as the older man enfolded him. Tormented cries poured from him as Shawn seemed to finally come off the stress of his unbearable ordeal. Someone tapped Henry on the shoulder, and he glanced up to see Karen holding out a short knife. Grabbing the tool, he quickly cut away the tape binding Shawn's wrists. As soon as he was free, he clutched at his father desperately. Pausing only long enough to drape a blanket over Shawn's shoulders, Karen retreated again.

Henry wasn't sure how long he crouched there, but eventually Shawn's cries tapered off, and his body grew suddenly heavier as slumped unconsciously. Henry carefully laid him on his back, allowing the EMT's to swarm around him. Moments later, Shawn was transferred to a stretcher and rushed to the ambulance. Allowing Karen to pull him to his feet, Henry walked out quickly. "I'm riding with him." He said softly. Karen nodded, moving towards the mob of cruisers. "I'll be right behind you." Before she'd taken three steps, Henry's voice stopped her. "Karen… I want an explanation." She looked back at him, her eyes unblinking. "You'll get one, I promise you."

And then he was in the ambulance, and his attention fixed on the pale face above the blanket.

Lights flashing, the ambulance roared from the lot, followed by a line of cruisers.


	5. No Really, I Would Have Remembered That

Shawn woke up on the way to the hospital. Almost before his eyes were open, he started struggling. The EMTs did what they could, but he just became more violent. And then they used restraints. Henry froze at the sounds coming from his son. Growing up, Shawn very rarely let on when he was in true pain. Small nicks and cuts… tiny bruises, sure- anything for sympathy or to get out of chores. But real injuries… hell, he hadn't even used a dislocated kneecap to avoid finishing the doghouse. It was one of the things that made him who he was; as much a part of his personality as his aggravating humor, spontaneity, and endless good spirits. But the moment his wrists were restrained… Henry didn't think it was possible for Shawn to scream like that. He started thrashing his body, trying to throw off the hands that held him down. Henry stood immediately, but was pushed back by one of the EMTs.

"HOLD HIM DOWN!"

"SIR, YOU NEED TO STAY BACK…"

"GET ME TWO CCs OF LORAZEPAM!"

"WATCH HIS HEAD!"

Shawn's eyes were squeezed shut as the needle plunged into his arm. Every muscle was tensed, and the veins on the side of his neck bulged. He'd stopped screaming, but an animal-like growl forced its way past his teeth. It wasn't until the ambulance arrived at the emergency room that the sedative finally started taking effect. Slumping back down on the stretcher, Shawn's fingers continued to twist in the fabric at his sides. The moment the ambulance came to a halt, the doors were pulled open and the medics rushed for the ER, Henry racing to keep up. Once inside, questions were shouted back and forth- what were his vitals, BP, temp, were his airways blocked, any blood-loss, pupil response, any complaints of nausea, any vomiting… etc, etc. Many questions were directed at Henry as well- did he have any allergies, any reactions to medications, any prior heart condition… and he answered each quickly, trying to keep his eyes locked on his son.

One of the emergency room nurses pressed his hand against Shawn's side, drawing a stifled groan. "I'm detecting a fracture, middle right side- broken third rib with probable damage to the fourth…" Another nurse checked Shawn's eyes, noting the possibility of a concussion. As the first man grasped his wrist in preparation to take his pulse, Shawn started whipping his head back and forth… weakly protesting.

Chief Vick reached Henry's side just as a doctor appeared next to Shawn, taking control of the patient.

"What's happening Henry…"

Henry whirled on the Chief, pointing at his son, who was being wheeled swiftly to a curtained off section of the ER. "You tell me! What the hell happened to my kid!"

Karen stepped back a little, her spine stiffening. "Look, we only just got the call this morning…"

A doctor stepped up to the two, holding out his hands. "Hey, I need to ask you wait in the lounge area- I've got more patients coming in. As soon as we have news, we'll alert you..." Henry hesitated for just a moment, looking in the direction his son had been taken. Then, tightening his lips, he brushed past Karen and headed for the waiting area.

Several minutes later, his voice quieter but no less fierce, Henry continued. "I want to know what happened to my son, Karen!"

Vick stared back at him, shaking her head. "I'm not totally certain. We received a 911 recording at about six fifteen. Shawn was calling to say he'd been kidnapped, and then the call cut off suddenly… it sounded like by a gunshot. We were able to get a location, and got there as soon as possible. There were two people in the Laundromat with him, a man and a woman. We apprehended them, but Shawn wouldn't let us near him. And you know the rest."

Henry clenched his teeth, shaking his head angrily. "Damn it- that is not everything Karen! I saw Lassiter's face… and I saw…" He dropped his head for a second, fighting for composure. When he continued, his voice was shaking. "He flinched… Karen. Shawn didn't want me to touch him. Now what else did you see when you found him."

Karen dropped her eyes, and Henry felt something cold and heavy settle in his chest as she spoke. "When we got there, the female suspect was standing in the doorway… watching. Just watching. She gave up quickly. When I got inside… the male perp was… on top of Shawn. He… uh… he had… unzipped his pants and…" She shook her head. "Henry, I don't know what happened. We stopped him before he could do anything… but as to what may have occurred earlier…"

Henry turned away, dizziness and nausea washing over him. He couldn't face this… he couldn't deal with this. The thought of Shawn… the kid who knocked his shoulder out of its socket and called it a minor abrasion… the boy that looked Henry square in the eye and denied eating the last jelly donut- while trying to hide the fact that he was wiping his hands off on his hem…

Henry stood quickly, his hands shaking as he fought back the acid in the back of his throat. The possibility that Shawn had been ra…. he banished the word, not capable of tying it to his son's name. But he remembered how Shawn flinched away… how he cried, wrenchingly, against his chest… And he couldn't fight it anymore.

He barely made it to the men's room.

0o0o0o0

He was still standing over the sink, hot water running freely, when the doctor whom he'd seen earlier, found him. The man stood silently as Henry turned off the faucet, dabbing at his face with a paper towel. Finally, as Henry straightened, the doctor nodded to the door. "Can we talk?"

From this side of the question, he understood why his son hated being asked that. Nodding mutely in response, he followed the doctor back to the waiting room. By this time, Gus had also arrived, pacing back and forth in agitation. Karen was sitting on one of the couches near the wall, but stood as the two men approached. Gus joined her, his face tight with worry. Gathering the three people in a more secluded area, the doctor began.

"I don't know what you know of Shawn's attack, but I'll run through what we've managed to determine so far. Of his most severe injuries is the fractured third rib. He apparently was quite active after the initial break, as there is some trauma to the surrounding tissue. We also found hairline fractures on the second and fourth ribs, so he needs to be kept immobilized until we can be sure he won't exacerbate the injury any further. He has a minor concussion, but so far there is no sign of swelling. However, I'd like to run a CT scan just to be safe. He has a great deal of bruising on a large portion of his body, with most of the more extensive damage localized on his midsection. An initial examination didn't reveal any organ damage, but again- I want to keep a close eye on him for now. Besides that, there are numerous contusions and a couple of minor lacerations, one of which required about six stitches…"

Henry cleared his throat, crossing his arms tightly. "Doctor… have you had a chance… I mean, did you examine him for…" Damn it, he couldn't say it!

"There is a strong chance he may have been raped." Said Karen softly. Henry heard Gus make a strangled noise before bolting from the group. Though the question needed to be asked, Henry felt sudden shame for not speaking to Gus first. Bad enough without hearing it like that.

The doctor looked startled, which answered Henry's question in part. They hadn't checked. No matter, it could wait. "Can I see my son?" He asked. He clenched his hands into fists, barely feeling it as his nails bit into his palms. The doctor nodded. "This way."

Henry turned to Karen, who placed a hand on his arm. "I'll wait here with Gus." Unable to smile, Henry gave her hand a quick pat before following the doctor.

0o0o0o0

Shawn had been moved from the ER to a private room in ICU where they could monitor his injuries over the next twenty-four hours. When Henry entered the room, he was disturbed to see that the restrains had yet to be removed from Shawn's wrists and ankles. Seeing the direction of his gaze, the doctor spoke up. "We were concerned about further injury…"

Henry leveled a glare at the doctor, and somehow managed to keep his voice calm. "Get those god-damned things off him now, or I will." Apparently deciding he wouldn't win this particular discussion, the doctor complied.

"If he wakes up and becomes uncontrollable, I need to be alerted immediately."

Barely nodding, Henry seated himself by Shawn's side. He wanted to touch his hand, assure himself that Shawn was actually there and safe. But considering the way the kid had acted before…

Instead, Henry dropped his head in his hands.

0o0o0o0

An hour passed by at an excruciating pace. And then another. Both Karen and Gus stopped in for a while, trying to start conversations before tapering off into silence. Somehow, being in the room with Shawn, yet not hearing him speak, joke, rile, tease, or infuriate… stole the life from the rest of them.

Karen left first, needing to oversee interrogations of the two kidnappers. Gus wanted to stay until Shawn woke up, but Henry insisted he leave for a while. Besides, he needed to talk to Shawn alone first, and the last thing his son needed was to share something potentially degrading and humiliating with his best friend looking on.

So Henry waited. At one point, a sympathetic nurse stopped by with a cup of coffee and a sandwich. It wasn't until then that Henry remembered he hadn't eaten breakfast, much less lunch. Still, he couldn't eat. He kept thinking about Shawn's eyes, how they'd looked so hollow even as he was forcing humor. Like he was trying to force away what had happened by pretending everything was normal.

Sipping his coffee, Henry felt a tremor run through his body. If the man who had done this to his son was standing before him now… he may have been a cop once, but he had no illusions about this. He would shoot the bastard dead.

"Dad…"

He set down his cup quickly, turning toward the bed. Shawn's eyes were blinking slowly as he fought the sedative that was still in his system.

"Hey kid." Said Henry, forcibly keeping his hands in his lap. Shawn licked his lips, still appearing confused. He looked around the room, his eyes focusing as he seemed to figure out where he was.

"I'm… inna- hospital?" He asked lethargically. Henry nodded. "Yep. You got knocked around pretty good."

Shawn's eyes closed again, and Henry thought he'd fallen asleep again when he groaned, turning his head. "What… what happ…" And suddenly Shawn stiffened. His breathing sped up and he clutched at his bedding. Henry was standing before he was even aware of it, his hands hovering near Shawn's arm.

"Slow down, slow down…"

"Dad!" Shawn's voice was strangled as he stared up at Henry. Henry reached for the call button, but Shawn's hand on his wrist stopped him. "No… I- I'm okay… I'm okay…" The look in his eyes belied that, but Henry stopped. Instead, he placed his other hand over Shawn's fingers, feeling the slight trembling.

"Kid… can you tell me what happened?" Shawn trembled even more, his free hand still digging into the bedding. His face was drained of color as he clenched his jaw. As a minute passed without a response, Henry was beginning to think Shawn wasn't up to it. But he should have given him more credit. Though his hand was still shaking, his son was obviously forcing himself calm. Once his breathing slowed, he turned his eyes on his father. He seemed to be searching for the right place to start. Henry sat down again, somehow pulling off a weak smile. "How about the beginning… how did you meet this woman?"

His words slow at first… hesitant, as began to reconstruct the previous night.

"Her name was Erin… just Erin… like Cher… or Prince… She ran into me outside the office… said she worked down the street from me… asked if I wanted to go out…" As Shawn described how he'd been ambushed, then left for hours on the ocean shore, Henry felt a resurgence of his rage. And he also felt guilt, imagining how he'd been settling into bed while his son was being tortured. Shawn didn't notice the change in his demeanor though, and continued on, describing the truck ride, but glossing over the beating he endured. Henry let it pass, for now. He knew Shawn would have to give a more detailed statement to the police. For the moment, Henry needed him to talk. To keep this inside would only allow it to poison him.

Shawn's voice steadied as he went on to talk about the house where he'd been held, taking a lot of time to describe the neighborhood, the interior, the creaking stairs. Henry let him. It was just another way of trying to hold off discussing the rest of what had happened to him. But when he started in on the exact shade of green that had been painted on the basement walls, Henry held up his hand.

"Shawn…"

The younger man stopped, his calm expression ruined by the hand squeezed around Henry's fingers. He stared upward for a few more moments, obviously wavering… and then he nodded, once. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes.

"They cuffed me in a chair, taped my feet to the legs. And then they left. There was a phone in the room… so I slipped the cuffs, got the tape off, and went for it." Shawn bit his lip, shaking his head. "It was just another part of the game though… I should have seen it…" He paused again, breathing in shallowly, wincing a little. "They came back in, knocked me down… Andrew started hitting me, but I got my hand on the cuffs. I cuffed him to the chair. And then Erin pulled her gun. I was pretty sure she was gonna shoot me… but instead… she uh… she told me to run… she told me she wanted to watch as A-Andrew…" He stopped again, squeezing his eyes tighter, pressing his lips together. Henry was about to stop him when Shawn exhaled. "I ran. I didn't think I'd get out, he was right behind me. He caught me once, but I did that move you showed me… I think I maybe broke his nose. I got about one more block before I remembered the Laundromat. I had to hide by some garbage cans until Andr… until he ran by. And then I went back the other way. I figured there had to be phone… they always had pay phones at those things. And there was. It even worked. I got through, but then I realized… I thought about Erin, how she wanted to watch. I realized she had to have followed me. I dropped the phone just in time, she probably would have shot my hand otherwise. She didn't shoot again though… and I thought I might actually be able to take her…"

Henry bit back a curse at the thought of his son trying to overcome an armed attacker. Of all the foolhardy… but Shawn wasn't paying attention, and his voice grew suddenly soft. "I didn't get the chance… she moved to the side… and He was there… smiling. He was smiling." The pause this time was longer, to the point Henry wasn't sure he could finish. But, stubborn even in the face of his horrific experience, Shawn forced a deep breath, rubbing his free hand across his forehead. "He came at me… tackled me… he… he…." And he just couldn't finish. Henry's fears jumped at the stricken look on Shawn's face.

_Please no…_

"Shawn… did Andrew…" What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just ask the damn question? He'd spoken to dozens of victims in his course of being a cop. It was tough, sure, but he'd never shied from the word before.

_Yeah, but it was never your son who was the victim…_

Shawn opened his eyes, the flesh around them was swollen and red.

"No."

Henry breathed out in a rush, dropping his shoulders.

"But he tried to… he tried…" Shawn's voice finally cracked, and he turned his head quickly as tears slid down his face. Henry held onto his hand as his son fought desperately for control. It was rough, so badly did he want to just hold him, comfort him. But it was also the last thing Shawn wanted. He was already ashamed enough as it was.

It was several minutes before Shawn took a shuddering breath, turning his rugged face back towards Henry. His eyes were already starting to droop again as the sedative finally reasserted its control. Henry snagged a tissue from a nearby box and handed it to Shawn, who swiped it across his cheeks before wadding it into a ball and tossing it towards the garbage. Surprisingly, it made it in, and Shawn managed a small smile. "Point for me." He said softly. Henry was amazed to find himself chuckling. "Sure. I'll be sure to add that to your tally."

Shawn blinked heavily. "You… gonna… be here… a while…?"

Henry closed his hands tightly around Shawn's fingers. "I'm not going anywhere." And before he'd even finished, the kid was asleep, his breathing steady and soft.

Reaching out to caress his son's face, Henry wiped the last traces of tears from Shawn's eyes; offering the comfort he'd withheld earlier. Shawn's face turned toward him slightly, and Henry rubbed his cheek with a roughened thumb.

"I'm not going anywhere." He repeated.


	6. What's With The Silent Treatment?

"Henry… how is he… he did? Was he able to… oh thank God. Yes, yes I'll tell them right away. Thank you."

Interim Chief Karen Vick flipped shut her cell phone. She sighed with relief. One horrible possibility eliminated at least. Turning around, she stood on the opposite side of a two-way glass. Her arms were folded tightly beneath her breasts, and her mouth made a thin line as she observed the man seated within the interrogation room. For the moment, he was alone, one hand cuffed to a ring on the edge of the metal table. He hadn't moved an inch for the past five minutes she'd been watching him. He was a large man, easily six three. His shoulders were broad, and his arms and legs heavily muscled. His dark eyes were deep-set beneath thick brows- his lank, unkempt hair hanging down just below the cut of his jaw. His broad nose had been mashed at some point during the night, dry blood still speckled on his upper lip. Having observed what happened to her head Detective when they converged on the Laundromat, Vick had a strong suspicion who'd caused the man's injury. Considering what this man had done, she figured a broken nose was the least of his worries.

The door to the observation room opened, and Detective Lassiter entered, holding a thick folder.

"Henry just called. Shawn woke up."

Lassiter lowered the folder. "Was he…?"

"No. It was close, but we got there in time." At Lassiter's badly hidden look of relief, Karen managed a smile. "How's the nose?"

Lassiter grimaced. "I'll live. Remind me I owe Spencer a return favor once he's cleared for active spirit channeling again."

Vick grinned. "I'll do that." Her eyes dropped to the folder in her Head Detective's hands, her smile fading. "What did you find?"

"We finally got some history on this guy." He said as he passed the folder to her. She opened the cover as Lassiter continued. "Full name is Andrew Shay Drayton, thirty-nine years old. He was convicted in eighty-four for possession of heroin, sentenced to fifteen years but got out in five. He apparently got lucky with the parole judge, who happened to be old buddies with his father… the honorable judge Herman Drayton the Third."

Karen darted her eyes up in shock, then back to the folder to confirm the facts in black and white. She paled when she read the next entry. "It says here he was named in the beating and rape of a twenty-two year old man on the fourth of October in ninety-nine, and again in o' two. Why the hell wasn't he charged?"

Carlton worked his jaw. "Both times, the victim died from their injuries before a positive id could be made. Also, there was no physical evidence on either body. With Judge Drayton's pull, it's no wonder he got away with it."

Vick slapped the folder shut, glaring through the window once more.

"Let's make sure he doesn't slither out of it this time."

Nodding sharply, Lassiter exited, only to appear again on the other side of the glass.

0o0o0o0

Andrew Drayton sat, unmovable as a stone, as Lassiter entered the room. The temperature was lower than normal, but he suppressed the shiver with ease. He'd been the one to adjust the thermostat after all. Drayton didn't even glance in his direction as Carlton took a seat across from him. In fact, Drayton stared straight ahead- as though he were staring straight through the two-way mirror.

Dropping the folder onto the table, Lassiter flipped open the cover. "Okay… nineteen eighty-four. Caught with a baggie of joy flakes… went away for five years. Looks like daddy fixed that little embarrassment though…" Andrew didn't respond- still started straight ahead, unmoving. Flipping up a page, Lassiter continued. "In nineteen ninety-two, you were accused of fondling a female co-worker at the Jiffy Moves gas station where you were employed for six months. Tell me, how much did dear dad have to pay her to get her to drop the charges?" Empty silence. No matter, tougher perps than this had cracked like babies… this guy was no different. "Ninety-four, another accusation… eighteen year old boy said you groped him in a gym locker room. Daddy buy him too? Seems like dad approves of your activities. Kinda like a pimp. Tell me, your dad ever touch you as a kid huh? Maybe you got off on that… having your daddy put his hands on you…"

Lassiter barely had time to lunge back as Andrew clawed at him, his thick fingers grazing the front of the detective's suit. As soon as Andrew settled down again, Carlton pressed on. "Sore spot? Tell me, when was the first time daddy groped you? Is that why you seem to prefer boys? You trying to relive all those good times?" Instead of attacking, Andrew leaned back in his seat, smiling softly. Carlton bared his teeth. "Listen, I suggest you drop the smug act and start talking or…" At that moment, the door opened, admitting a tall, slender man in a dark grey jacket and slacks.

"Please… continue threatening my client. It will make a nice sidebar."

The man held out his hand, then dropped it when Lassiter merely glared at him. "Anderson Filch, I'm Mr. Drayton's attorney. As of now, my client is invoking his rights."

Lassiter glanced at the silent man seated at the table. "He called you?"

Filch smiled benignly… it made Lassiter want to strike him. "I was contacted by Mr. Drayton's father. I believe you might have heard of him… Second Circuit Judge Herman Drayton the Third?" As Lassiter ground his teeth, Filch walked to the table where he deposited his briefcase.

"Now if you don't mind Detective, I'd like some privacy to talk to my client."

0o0o0o0

Karen met Lassiter as he strode, fuming, from the interrogation room. "Son of a bitch… probably calling his dad right now to make it all better."

Vick shook her head. "I really thought you had him for a second… he was cracking…"

Lassiter clenched and unclenched his fists as the walked through the station. "Well there's still one more to go. Where did we put Miss Erin I Have No Last Name?"

Karen made a slight adjustment to their course. "Room six, O'Hara's there now. And even better, she declined her lawyer privileges."

Lassiter picked up the pace. With any luck, they could salvage something from this debacle.

0o0o0o0

"Andrew didn't have anything to do with this."

Carlton shared a look with O'Hara, noting the stunned confusion that flitted across her face.

"I'm sorry…?" He exclaimed, sliding off the edge of the table.

Erin shrugged, brushing her tousled hair over her shoulder. "It was totally me… all of it. I kidnapped Shawn, I forced him into the truck, I beat him up… what more is there to say?"

O'Hara started to speak, shook her head, and tried again. "When we arrived, we caught Andrew assaulting Shawn…"

Erin shook her head. "No, no that's wrong. Andrew was trying to help him. I'd chased Shawn to the Laundromat. I knocked him down, and was getting ready to shoot him when Andrew burst in on me. He pushed me away, but I fought back, and he fell. He was just starting to get up again when you came crashing in." She crossed her arms, giving both detectives a scornful look. "Listen, I don't need some meat-brained degenerate taking credit for this. This was my baby from beginning to end."

Lassiter glanced towards the two-way glass, knowing Vick was on the other side. None of this was going how they'd expected. Sure, he figured there'd be some work to get at the answers… but for her to take all the blame…

There was no way in hell Andrew wasn't directly involved. The look on Spencer's face when they found him… Carlton, in spite of the outward animosity for the pet psychic, had a grudging- and never to be admitted- respect for the man. Seeing the terror in his face when they'd first come through the doors of the Laundromat… that memory was guaranteed to be with him for a long time to come.

Returning his attention to the woman before him, Lassiter let out a drawn out breath. "Fine, fine. Look, how about you start at the beginning."

0o0o0o0

The arraignment was scheduled to be held the following morning. Karen called Henry, who informed her that Shawn hadn't woken since the previous day. He'd provided her with Shawn's statement to him… and though it implicated Drayton, she was still concerned. She met the prosecuting attorney, Casey Abbott, outside courtroom three and handed over both the statement, as well as Erin's confession. Casey had reviewed the files earlier, but she still flipped through them one more time. Finally, she looked up, adjusting her glasses.

"Are you ready? I believe Detective's Lassiter and O'Hara are already inside."

Karen nodded. "Let's go."

0o0o0o0

The courtroom was packed with spectators. Thankfully, though, the media had been barred from the proceedings. Karen took a seat next to her two detectives, and Casey made her way to the front of the courtroom, where Drayton and his attorneys were already seated. He and Erin were being arraigned separately, with hers due immediately after.

There was a slight rustle, and then, "All rise, for the Honorable Judge William Sanders." Seats slapped back on their hinges as everyone stood. The judge entered from the right, a smaller man with a sharp grey beard and thinning hair. He took his seat, and faced the court. "Court is now in session."

Judge Sanders pounded his gavel. "You may be seated." As the courtroom settled, Judge Sanders folded his hands. "We are here for the arraignment of Mr. Andrew Drayton. According to the file, he is facing one count of kidnapping in the first degree, attempted rape, and one count of aggravated assault. Would the attorney for Mr. Drayton please begin these proceedings?"

Anderson Filch stood, smoothing his tie. He held a stack of files in his hand, and Karen felt a sudden twist in her gut. "Your Honor. As you know, my client has a long history of accusations lodged at him by the SBPD. Accusations which, according to their own records, are completely unfounded. We are here today because, once more, Mr. Drayton has been falsely accused. I want you to know, I sympathize with Mr. Spencer. No one can deny that what he experienced was a terrifying and brutal attack. However, it is also undeniable that my client, Andrew Drayton had anything to do with it. In fact, according to statements given by his 'so-called' partner, Andrew Drayton is actually a hero, putting his life on the line for Mr. Spencer."

Casey Abbott shook her head. "Your Honor, Andrew Drayton is a sadistic masochist. He has a long history of assault on both men and women alike…"

"If you'd examined your files closely, you'd know those charges were all dropped." Interrupted Filch.

"And if you'd taken the time to study your files, you'd see that Shawn Spencer gave testimony that he was attacked by Andrew Drayton!"

The sound of a gavel filled the room, and the two attorneys returned their gazes to the front of the room. As soon as it was calm, the Judge gestured to Filch. "Do you have a rebuttal to this claim?"

Filch smoothed his tie again. "Your Honor, Shawn Spencer's statement is shaky at best. At the time, he was under the influence of a powerful sedative. In addition, the statement was made to his father, not a member of the SBPD."

Casey seemed to bristle. "Henry Spencer is a former member of the police force, and a decorated officer. Any statement he takes can be viewed as valid."

Filch smiled. "I'm sure Mr. Spencer Senior is a fine and upstanding man, but the fact remains that it was his son that was the victim. I don't know about you, but I'd have a hard time thinking rationally during such an emotionally draining ordeal. In any event, Shawn Spencer's claim is invalidated by Miss Erin, who stated she acted alone."

"Oh, and I'm sure she was telling the truth." Shot back Casey in disgust. The gavel fell again at the resultant murmur, and it took a second for the room to quiet once more.

"Miss Abbott, I will remind you to keep your personal opinions out of this courtroom." Said the judge firmly. He then sat back, folding his hands. "I've examined the files you've provided. Unless there are any other arguments, I would ask that we proceed to the issue of bail."

In fact, there were a lot more arguments, both sides debating heatedly.

And through it all, Andrew Drayton sat like a marble statue, staring straight ahead.

Finally, just before nine forty, the arguments came to a close. Andrew Drayton was asked to stand, and the debate over bail began.

Karen could only watch, and wait.

0o0o0o0

Henry had actually managed to close his eyes for more than fifteen minutes when his cell phone rang. He groaned, sitting up on the small cot by the far wall. The name on the front indicated it was from Karen.

Feeling his weariness bleed away, Henry flipped open the phone. "Yes?"

He listened for a second, his brow furrowed. "Well did they… uh huh…" On the bed on the other side of the room, Shawn pulled one hand up sharply, mumbling something incoherently. Then slowly, he dropped his arm back down. Henry continued to listen to the voice on the other end, his fingers massaging his forehead.

"Wait, Karen, what do you mean they…" His eyes flared. "What, did the Judge have his head up his ass?... Well how could they question that!" Shawn twitched again, and Henry turned around, forcibly lowering his voice.

"Fine, fine, forget that for now. Just tell me when his court date is."

There was a pause, long enough for Henry to feel his stomach roll sickly.

As the voice finally returned, speaking slowly, Henry turned to look at Shawn.

His hand nearly crushed the phone.

"Oh my God…"


	7. Someone Pass The Vicodin

A/N: Mature Content warning. This chapter contains sexually suggestive material- please read at your discretion.

0o0o0o0o0

"I don't understand it…"

Henry shook his head, staring at the young man across from him. "I don't know how to explain it myself. It's inconceivable…"

Gus's hands were trembling slightly, his expression sick. Every few moments, his eyes would stray to the bed at the other side of the room. Shawn was resting soundly at the moment, his bruised face slack. Now and then, his expression would tighten, just for a second, before smoothing out once more. Sometimes, he would clench his hands. Other than that, he was fairly peaceful.

Not like yesterday… yesterday, when he suddenly lashed out, his hand striking the metal rail along the edge of his bed. The resulting _**SNAP**_ had sent Henry racing for the call button. Half and hour later, the doctor left the room, and Shawn was sporting a padded brace on his newly broken pinkie. The kid didn't even wake up.

Turning his gaze back to Henry, Gus clasped his hands between his knees. "Does he know?"

Henry shook his head. "He woke up briefly at around ten… long enough to take a few sips of water and ask for a cute nurse." He chuckled. "I guess I should consider that a good sign." Mirroring Gus's posture, Henry's amusement at his son faded. "I can't tell him that yet… not yet…"

For a while, the only sound was the soft tick of the clock on the wall. Even Shawn's respirations were too gentle to carry across the room. The two men kept silent vigil, neither one capable of conversation, both locked in their own thoughts.

Presently, the door to the room opened, admitting the duty nurse. She smiled brightly, hefting an armload of bedding. "You guys want to give me a hand? I need to change the sheets." Henry and Gus stood. Walking to his son's bed, Henry shook Shawn's shoulder gently.

"Hey kid…" Bleary eyes opened slowly, taking a second to focus. "Think you can stand a minute?" Shawn closed his eyes, taking some time to open them again. When he did, his expression was slightly clearer.

"Yeah…"

It took both Henry and Gus working together to help Shawn to stand. Though still somewhat medicated, he was shaking with pain and fatigue by the time he was upright. While the nurse changed the linens, Henry started to help his son to one of the nearby chairs. Before he could sit, though, Shawn shook his head. "Bathroom." He murmured. Changing direction, Henry led him to the door at the other end of the room. Unsurprisingly, Shawn insisted on going in alone. Henry stood outside the door, though, listening closely just in case. After a few minutes, there was a toilet flush, and the sound of running water. Shawn emerged shortly afterward, his face ashen as he held his side. Henry quickly grabbed his elbow, steering him back to the newly made bed. Both the nurse and Gus helped him settle beneath the covers again. As he laid his head back, the nurse held up a small paper cup. The look he shot Henry was pathetic- lip slightly pouted, brows upturned. Crossing his arms, Henry looked at the nurse. "He'll take them."

Though he frowned, even attempted a half-hearted argument, Shawn finally downed the medication. He coughed a little as he sipped some more water, and his hand flattened against his right side. The nurse patted his head as he sank against his pillow. "I need to finish my rounds, but I'll be by in a little bit to check on you before I clock out." She suddenly smiled mischievously, "Especially if you let me get a glimpse of that lovely bum again."

Henry rubbed his eyes, studiously ignoring Gus, who seemed to be choking on his tongue. For his part, Shawn grinned shamelessly.

As the nurse strode from the room, Gus finally found a weak version of his voice. "Damn Shawn…"

His friend glanced sideways, jiggling his brows, dopey grin still plastered smugly on his face… until he started coughing. His arms wrapped around his middle as he fought to stifle the side-effects of a dry throat. Henry leaned forward and placed his hand on Shawn's shoulder until the coughs subsided. Once he was breathing freely again, Henry offered him a cup of water. After two swallows, Shawn passed back the cup. "Thanks." He said roughly, settling down onto his mattress achingly.

Henry expected Shawn to fall back asleep fairly quickly. Though his son acted like he was buzzing on something most of the time, when exposed to the real thing, it usually dropped him like a bag of sinkers. This time, though, Shawn's eyes were locked on his with a disturbing level of clarity. Henry shifted, unused to being the scrutinized one in the relationship. Gus seemed to catch on that there was some fairly intense Spencer men silent communication happening, and muttered something about coffee before leaving the room.

The stare was getting tiresome.

"What, Shawn."

"I should be asking you that dad."

Henry shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Look, dad, I know you like to 'look after your own' and all- but since when are you June Cleaver? And if you are taking on the role of a matronly mommy figure could I have some chocolate chip cookies? Cause I'm feeling kinda nippish."

Henry crossed his arms tightly. "I'll consider it if you can prove you're capable of keeping down anything other than green Jell-o."

The attempt to keep off topic failed. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who could see past bluster. His own techniques at raising the boy had taught him that little skill quite well. And Shawn knew when something was being kept from him.

Henry knew he could keep talking around the subject until Shawn finally lost consciousness. A part of him really supported that idea. But the truth was, putting it off would change nothing. And Shawn deserved to know.

Sighing, Henry braced his hands on his knees. Looking directly at his son, he spoke.

0o0o0o0

Shawn had been alone in the room for the past fifteen minutes. It had taken some effort, but he'd finally convinced his dad to go home for a while, if just to take a shower. It helped a bit when he waved his hand in front of his nose.

Besides, he just wanted to think for a while.

_"there wasn't enough evidence… judge must be in someone's pocket…" _

_"They let him go…"_

Shawn rubbed a hand across his upper lip. He thought he'd been pretty guarded with his emotional response to the news. He'd nodded slowly, kept his eyes level, and made sure to clasp his hands under the covers to disguise their shaking. And if Henry noticed, he didn't say anything. Actually, the _fact_ that he didn't say anything was a pretty clear indication that he knew _exactly_ what Shawn was feeling. And that he let it slide was evidence of how badly he was dealing with this as well.

A small shadow passed beneath his door, for the third time. Shawn smiled a little in spite of his jumping nerves. "You can come in Gus, I'm still awake."

The door opened immediately, admitting his friend. "Hey."

"Hey."

Token greeting rendered and received, Gus dropped in the chair vacated by Henry.

After a few moments of silence, Shawn sighed. "Dude, is there like, a naked chick under my bed?"

Gus looked up quickly, his brow furrowed. "Wha…?"

"Two naked chicks?"

"Shawn…"

"Oooh, two naked chicks and a Playstation!"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Playstation Shawn? Please. Classic Nintendo is a way better system than a crappy Playstation."

Shawn placed a hand over his heart. "Gus! Blasphemer! I happen to live for Sonic!"

Gus smiled, shaking his head. "Shawn, Shawn… I have two words for you. Donkey Kong."

The debate continued for another ten minutes, at which point the medicine floating through Shawn's bloodstream took back control over his flailing consciousness. Eyes drooping, he let his head fall back without even a token attempt at resistance. Gus stood, seeming to debate whether he should stay or leave. Shawn smiled. "I'm sure dad is on his way back already. He's really nursing this crush of his." Gus relaxed visibly. Then, just before walking to the door, he held out his fist. Grinning widely, Shawn offered his in return.

"Hey Gus, you think that nurse likes me?"

Gus seemed to consider the question. "She did like your ass."

Shawn nodded, "She did… and I seem to remember her massaging my chest at one point too… though that could have been a hallucination. You know how sedatives affect me…"

Gus nodded, smiling. "Sixth grade… chemistry class…"

"Dude, we made a vow never to speak of that."

The door opened at that moment to reveal a somewhat fresher looking Henry. He looked between the two boys, his expression one of deep suspicion. "Never speak of what?"

0o0o0o0

The lock was childishly easy to pick. First impressions always left people viewing him as somewhat slow… a hulking simpleton… eerily imposing. He didn't make an attempt to change that presumption. Those same people would probably be shocked to know he'd actually finished high-school with top marks. They'd be astounded to discover he'd been valedictorian when he graduated from college. Dropping the make-shift pick in his pocket… he allowed the feel of the apartment to wash over him. He knew this smell, it made his blood race through his veins. He felt the slightest need at the scent, but fought down the desire before it overwhelmed him. He wasn't here to leave evidence of his intrusion, or his arousal… at least not yet.

A stroll through the rooms was enough to map the layout. And then it was time to leave. Pulling a rag from his pocket, he wiped down the doorknob on his way out. He'd planned his visit carefully, drawing no notice either coming or going. Walking back to his car, he clutched his hands into fists. Whether it was the loss of his chance a few nights ago, or the rush from breaking into the apartment now, he didn't know. All he knew, was he needed some privacy… now.

He was glad he'd parked on a side street. Sliding into the front seat, he had his zipper down even before the door was fully shut. He called up memories of that night. Terrified eyes… bare skin… clawing fingers… He grunted in excitement, the images coming faster, blending with the outcome he'd planned for… screaming… pain… and finally… defeat. Panting heavily, he grasped the steering wheel with a tight fist. With a broken growl, he came, shaking slightly as he leaned back against the soft leather. His chest heaved as he rode the wave, feeling that blissful surge in his blood. Several seconds passed as he sat with his eyes shut. Finally, still breathing heavily, he took a moment to scan the rearview mirror. He was still alone. Finally, regaining some control, he adjusted his clothes and started the car. Giving the apartment a final, heated look, he threw the vehicle in gear and pealed away.


	8. Seriously, I'm Getting Bed Sores

"Go Fish."

"Shawn, we're playing Gin Rummy."

"Oh, right. Then…. Uno?"

"You don't know how to play this game do you."

"No. And I admit that with great pride. Jules, are you sure you don't want to play poker?"

"You asked me if I wanted to play _strip_ poker, and the answer is still no."

Shawn flopped backward on his bed with an exaggerated huff, playing cards sliding out of his fingers. Juliet leaned forward over her crossed legs, examined the spill, and smiled widely. "I win!"

Still in his prone position, Shawn smiled. "Excellent… _**Now**_ can we play poker?"

It had been a week since the woman officially known as Erin Garrett had been arraigned. Yesterday, after declining a juried trial, she had been found guilty, on all counts. Today, Shawn had finally been found fit enough to return home. That didn't mean he hadn't tried, repeatedly, to get out AMA. It took the combined effort of Henry, Gus, and a few select members of the SBPD to keep him confined to the hospital. By this point, even his nurse, who'd shown to be a master of the double entendre, wasn't enough to keep him from completely losing his mind with boredom.

On his last day as an inmate, Juliet had stopped by, and kindly agreed to hang out with him while his dad took care of the paperwork for his release. Even with her very welcome company, though, he had to restrain the impulse to run… er… hobble to freedom by himself.

"Shawn?"

He rolled his head to the side, his smile sliding away at the serious tone in her voice. Her eyes were downcast as she collected the scattered cards. Finally she looked up, worrying her bottom lip in a way that… well, in a way that if he kept thinking the way he was thinking…

Her eyes rose to meet his, and her tongue darted out nervously to lick her lips.

"Shawn… I…"

"You ready to go?" Boomed a voice from the door.

Both people on the bed jumped as Henry entered the room. Juliet slid from the bed, her face slightly flushed. "I'll, uh, see you later… take care Shawn." She waved, smiling as she left the room.

"Daaaaaaaaad….."

His father looked back at him, spreading his hands.

"What?"

0o0o0o0

He didn't think he'd ever be so grateful to enter his own apartment. It had taken some serious finagling to get his dad to take him here. The old man had been determined to bring Shawn to his house… But regardless of whatever current male bonding they had between them, the thought of spending night and day with his father was unbearable.

Though he had to admit- the thought of not having to prepare his own meals had definite merit…

Tossing his few belongings on his counter, he gingerly lowered himself to his couch… and then wrinkled his nose. Okay, what smelled like rotting garbage… oh right.

Tilting his head back for just a second, Shawn pulled himself upright again and dragged his body to the kitchen. He remembered, very clearly, throwing out the remains of a failed egg salad concoction. Add to that several days worth of used coffee filters and a half empty carton of sour milk… He wrestled for dominance with his protesting nasal passages as he tied off the bag of refuse and hauled it from the can. Though not heavy, his midsection burned in aggrieved outrage at the activity. Pushing his discomfort into the same part of his brain that housed all the advice his dad had given him about fishing, Shawn carried the bag out the door. His landlady, very kindly, had offered to deal with his trash if he wanted to just set it outside his apartment. However, the thought of her arthritic fingers hauling down his garbage was unacceptable. Besides, Gus had told him no.

Depositing his refuse, he wearily returned to his apartment, already contemplating what he'd scrounge for lunch.

He needn't have worried.

The delicious aroma of Schezwan chicken met his nose halfway down the hall. His badly abused taste buds perked up at the tell-tale scent, and immediately took over his mental abilities. He hardly acknowledged the presence of his best friend as he made a lopsided beeline for the brown paper bag of the gods sitting next to his toaster oven. Only after three steaming mouthfuls did he manage a hello. Gus, true to form, merely snagged an egg roll and plopped down on his couch.

Twenty minutes later, no longer famished, Shawn rested against the cushions of his sofa. Gus was flipping channels on his set, neither of them feeling the need to converse. He was really feeling relaxed. Really, really, really…

…

Dammit!

He knew he should have been more suspicious when Gus offered to fix him up with another plate of fried rice!

He turned his head to glare at the other man, only to see Gus looking back, brows raised above sneaky eyes. Oh, there'd be retribution for this later… heavy retribution, possibly involving yogurt filled balloons. But not until after a nap. Maybe after a couple of naps…

His eyes closed, despite his need to continue glaring.

Somehow, he was certain, his father had something to do with this.

The old man was going down.

0o0o0o0

The sun was gone when he opened his eyes again. His SpongeBob blanket had been draped over his body, and all the dinner remains had been put away. On the other end of the couch, highlighted by the soft glow from his kitchen window, Gus was sleeping heavily; the remote still clutched in his hands. Though not in complete darkness, he wished Gus had thought to flip on a light before crashing. Oh well, it wasn't like he didn't know his way around his own apartment.

Standing slowly, Shawn was rudely reminded of why sleeping through the day was such a pain as his bladder joined other body parts in the vendetta to make him suffer. Working his way around the back of the couch, he swore sharply as he stubbed his toe on one of the short legs beneath it. Okay, now his toe hated him too. Moving carefully, he worked his way to the bathroom. Not even bothering with a light, he took care of business with half-shut eyes. Splashing his hands under the faucet, he yawned hugely. Those must've been some good meds hidden in his food. Regardless of the hours he'd dozed away, nothing seemed more inviting to him now than returning to the soft cushions in the living room. Wiping off his hands, he shuffled his way back towards the couch.

He was halfway there when his brain caught up with him.

Gus had fallen asleep holding the remote.

The TV was turned off.

And so was the light from his digital clock.

"Oh shit…"

0o0o0o0

Lassiter leaned heavily on his desk, typing the latest report into his laptop. Across from him, O'Hara was blinking slowly, her arm propped on the edge of the desk with her head on her palm. She seemed to have forgotten what she'd been doing last.

He couldn't blame her for her lack of energy. This thing with Spencer had been a drain for them all. But O'Hara had reacted to it worse than the rest of them. Knowing her odd affinity… okay, _attraction_, to the self-proclaimed psychic, Carlton wasn't surprised when she'd put in extra shifts to hang out at the hospital. Actually, so had Lassiter. But if anyone were to ask, he'd deny it on pain of death.

O'Hara's elbow slipped a little, and she jerked her head up fast. Shifting her shoulders slightly, she bent back over the file she'd been proof-reading.

"Why not head home, you can finish that tomorrow."

Her head shot up guiltily at the suggestion from her senior partner.

Carlton almost smiled at the look, but managed to fight it off at the last second.

"Go on. I'm sure the Chief won't mind if she doesn't get it until morning."

O'Hara's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but before she could answer, the phone on Carlton's desk rang. He grabbed it up distractedly, typing another line with one hand.

"Lassiter."

He listened for several seconds, his brows lowering in response.

"Well what about Peters… he should have been just a few blocks away…"

O'Hara looked up with concerned curiosity as he spoke. Ignoring the question in her eyes, Carlton suppressed a growl. "Okay, okay… no, no I understand… No, I'll take care of it."

O'Hara stood and moved to the side of his desk as Lassiter hung up. Pushing back his chair, he stood as well, grabbing his jacket off the coat hook, he strode for the exit, O'Hara on his heels. "What's going on?" Pushing through the double doors, he jogged to his car. "That was Fulmer. There was a fire on Washington and third. Apparently some idiot jumped the curb and plowed into the gas station on the corner. Took out one of the pumps and sent the whole thing up in flames. All units in the area were asked to respond."

As the two got into his car, Juliet's face showed sudden comprehension.

"It was their night to patrol…"

Lassiter nodded, starting his car. Preparing to back out, he caught the strain in her eyes. "Look, it's fine. We'll drive down there, maybe stop in for a cup of coffee…"

She snapped on her seatbelt. "Oh, I'm sure he'll buy that." Her words were spoken lightly, but her hands shook as she reached for her phone. "I'm going to call him and let him know we're on the way. Maybe if I tell him we've got ice cream he won't wonder why we're there."

Lassiter shook his head, pushing down the accelerator a bit harder than was typical.

"And you thought my suggestion sounded dumb."

0o0o0o0

"Gus…"

Shawn poked at his shoulder, drawing a mumbled complaint.

"Gus…" He tried again, whispering louder as he shook the arm holding the remote. Gus jumped as he woke suddenly, sending the remote flying across the room. Shawn heard it clatter to ground somewhere in the vicinity of his CD collection. In the dim light, Gus's eyes looked huge as he stared around himself.

"Wha… damn Shawn, why'd you turn off all the lights?"

Gus's voice was also hushed, probably in response to Shawn's. Shawn was just starting to answer when a tiny sound stopped him. He held up his hand. Gus obviously misinterpreted the sign.

"Shawn what…"

"Shhh!"

This time he held up both hands. He listened intently, but even though he strained his ears, the sound didn't repeat itself. Looking back at what he could see of Gus in the muted light, he gestured with his arm. "Dude, standard signal! Hand up with index finger extended means hushies!"

Gus glared back. At least… he thought it was a glare. "I'll remember that next time we have a blackout!" He whispered back fiercely.

Though he was still agitated… well… freaked out… Shawn paused to give Gus's words their due. He hadn't even considered that it might actually be just that; a simple blackout.

Still…

Fumbling around on his coffee table, he finally managed to find his cell. Flipping it open, he saw the low battery symbol blinking. Of course. Still, there might be enough power left to… he managed two numbers before the tiny screen went black.

Damn.

"Gus, where's your cell?"

Gus leaned back on the couch. "On the coffee table- you should be right next to it." Shawn could have smacked his forehead. Of course, he and Gus had the same Razor design. So the question was… where was _his_ cell?

And then he remembered. He'd had it with him that night. And somewhere between the parking garage and the ocean, it had vanished.

He dropped Gus's cell back to the table. Pushing himself to his feet, he took two steps towards the kitchen, and froze at the sound of something solid striking flesh.

He started to spin around… "Gus…!" And felt his body slammed into the wall.

Solid muscle pressed into his back, and he bit his lip as his ribs flared hotly. Thick fingers squeezed around his throat, and the muzzle of a small gun pressed against his temple.

He flinched as rough lips brushed against his ear. The hand around his throat tightened slightly, the thumb moving in lazy circles as Andrew breathed out heavily, and whispered the first words Shawn had ever heard him say.

"I've been thinking about you."


	9. Haven't We Been Here Before?

His mind fled.

Once more, he was back in that Laundromat; the stink of detergent heavy in the air, the gritty tile beneath his chest, the scrape of ragged fingernails as they dragged across his back… tugged at his jeans…

He bit his lip to shove away the vivid memory. He was in the now dammit! He didn't have time for flashbacks!

Andrew's hand was still at his throat, the other digging the gun into his temple. His body pressed up crushingly against him, and Shawn strangled back a pain filled retort. The man chuckled, pressing his thumb against his neck a little harder. Then Andrew shifted his weight, pulling his waist back slightly. The adjustment set off alarms in Shawn's brain, and he tried to shove back, only to gasp as fingers dug into his esophagus. His left hand came up to claw at the crushing pressure, while his right hand shot out, grasping desperately, to catch hold of the only weapon in reach… a framed picture of Gus and himself, backstage at an Aerosmith concert, and signed by Steven Tyler.

He didn't hesitate.

Swinging back with as much force as he could manage at that angle, he struck Andrew on the top of his head with the edge of the frame. Glass shattered and Andrew reeled back; the hold on Shawn's neck dragging him away from the wall.

The gun had just started to jerk away from his temple when it discharged.

He felt like he'd been slapped with a hot frying pan as he spun to the floor. He hit hard, his ribs flaring in secondary pain as he groaned chokingly. His hand came up, and he felt something wet on the side of his face. Perfect. He exhaled sharply, trying to fight off the dizziness that overtook him.

"Sssshaaawn…?"

Oh god… Gus!

He could see Andrew lying on the floor just inches from his outstretched hand. He'd delivered a pretty good blow, but the man looked like he was already beginning to shake it off as he started to sit up. Gasping, Shawn forced himself unsteadily to his feet and half-fell back towards the couch.

Gus was sitting in the same place Shawn had left him. A dark line of blood ran from a gash on the right side of his head. He looked around in confusion. His hand came up to touch his head, and he jerked it back with a hiss. "Sh-Shawn?"

"Gus… Gus we gotta get out of here, can you stand?"

Gus never had a chance to answer as Shawn felt the equivalent to a battering ram strike him between the shoulders.

"Shawn!"

The startled shout was eclipsed by a furious growl as Andrew slammed him to the floor. His breath deserted him, and he could only gape in pain as he waited for the beating he knew was coming. The first strike buried in his kidneys, and he groaned as he struggled painfully to suck in air. The second hit landed just above the first, driving away the single gasp he managed to take. He heard the next strike, but felt nothing. There was a moment's confusion. Had his body gone suddenly numb? And then Andrew collapsed over him, grunting heavily. The extra weight assured he wouldn't be breathing anytime soon… but just as he was contemplating passing out, Gus was crouched next to him, pushing at Andrew's bulk.

"Shawn… come on… get up!"

Finally, finally he took in a shuddering breath. His lungs burned painfully as he started to process oxygen, and his gasps had an odd whistle to them. However, there wasn't time to deal with that now. Already, Andrew was twitching as he started to come around. Apparently, nothing short of cannon was enough to stop him for long.

Grasping at Gus's outstretched hand, Shawn managed to gain his feet… and nearly lost them again. The room wouldn't remain stationary as he swayed sickly. His lungs still burned, and he realized something was very, very wrong.

"Gus…" He managed, then felt his knees give out. Gus managed to brace him before he could drop all the way to the floor.

"Damn!" He heard the other man exclaim as he was dragged to the couch. Gus whirled, his hands digging frantically through the litter on the coffee table. "Shawn… Shawn, where's my phone!"

"It's"… _wheeze_…. "dead…."

Gus looked back at him, horrified. "Shawn?" I

t was getting harder to draw in breath, and with sickening realization, he understood why. That last hit… And his eyes widened as something moved behind his friend.

_**Gus!**_

He had no voice!

Terrified, he could only watch as Gus was hit from behind, his body falling bonelessly to the floor. Andrew walked towards him slowly… and then past him. He was out of sight for just a few seconds, but when he returned, he was holding his weapon. He sat down on the couch next to Shawn, turned sideways to face him. With one hand, he ran a finger down Shawn's temple. He couldn't even jerk away; it was all he could do to draw in breath. The paralyzing terror from that night was back… as were the memories that flashed through his mind. He tried to raise his arms, but they barely moved. His fingers twitched spasmodically. Struggling with panic, his eyes found Gus on the floor.

And he was suddenly choked with rage.

He tried to scream, to curse, to say anything… but nothing passed his lips but air. The finger on his face slid down his cheek, trailing roughly over stubble, to touch his lower lip. He tried to twist away, but the hand clenched around his jaw. From the corner of his eye, he watched Andrew raise the revolver. The eyes that stared at him were dilated, and foul breath panted in his face as the creature next to him shifted closer. Shawn squeezed shut his eyes as the gun followed the path Andrew's finger had taken earlier. It was happening again… it was happening again dammit! And he couldn't stop it! He couldn't even cry out for help! He could barely even breathe! His chest rattled as he tried to gasp, and his vision darkened briefly. He couldn't feel Andrew's hands anymore, but he sensed the man hadn't stopped. Something tugged at him, but he was rapidly approaching a point where he didn't care anymore. He inhaled roughly… released it… inhaled again… released…

…And couldn't draw his next breath.

He barely noticed it when something crashed.

The sound of gunshots was muted… dreamlike.

As everything darkened out completely, he could swear he heard a soft voice say his name.

0o0o0o0

The call came though when he was five minutes from the apartment. Someone had called in reporting they heard gunfire coming from the room above them. Lassiter mashed his foot on the accelerator, flipping on his siren at the same time. Next to him, O'Hara grabbed for the radio, acknowledging their location, and requesting backup.

They arrived in less than three minutes. Shoving through the front door, they passed an older woman in a housedress- probably the landlady. Barely sparing her a glance, Carlton darted for the stairs. When they reached the third floor, Lassiter slowed, pulling his weapon. O'Hara did the same, keeping a few steps back. There were only four doors down the hallway. The one they were headed for was the last one on the left.

Sliding along the wall until he was next to the door, Lassiter pivoted to face it while O'Hara, gun poised, stood just to the side. Giving a mental two-count, the detective met his partner's eyes. Then, squaring his jaw, he kicked in the door. "SBPD…"

The room was dark, and his eyes took a second to adjust. A large shape spun from its position on the couch, hand raised. There was a muzzle flare, and Carlton reacted instantly, raising his gun and firing two rounds into the lunging man. As the suspect crumpled to the floor, Lassiter heard a low groan. O'Hara brushed past him quickly. "Shawn?"

With the light from the hall, he could see the psychic reclined on the couch. Another shape moved near Spencer's feet… Guster. The man was pushing himself up weakly, and Carlton quickly stooped to help him. At this point, O'Hara had holstered her weapon and pulled out her flashlight, shining it Spencer's body. His shirt had been torn open, revealing his badly bruised torso. The brace around his midsection had been tampered with, and the button on his jeans had been undone. Then O'Hara made a small cry and the flashlight tumbled to the floor; but not before Lassiter saw what had made her panic.

The psychic wasn't breathing.

Releasing Gus, Carlton stood quickly and grabbed his partner's arm. "Call an ambulance!" Not waiting to see if she responded, he quickly pulled Spencer's body off the couch and laid him on the floor. Pressing his fingertips against his throat, he could make out a weak pulse. Gus hovered at his shoulder, his eyes wide. Lassiter glanced up at him. "Do you know CPR?"

Gus seemed to freeze for just a second, and Carlton grabbed his wrist.

"Gus!"

"Y- yeah…"

"Then get ready- I'll start breathing, but I need you in case we have to start chest compressions!" Bending quickly, Carlton tilted Spencer's head back, checked his airway, and pinched shut his nose. Two slow breaths, and pause, head tilted to the side. Nothing. Two more breaths, stop to listen, check the pulse, start again…

"Ambulance is on the way, ETA is four minutes!"

O'Hara's voice was relegated to the back. Carlton continued to force breath into the non-responsive man on the floor. Another breath, another check, pause… another breath another check, pause… another breath…

Spencer coughed, inhaled jerkily, and moaned.

"Oh thank God…" said Juliet softly as she placed her hand on the gasping man's arm. Lassiter leaned back, wiping his face as Gus snagged the blanket off the couch and draped it over his friend, who had begun shivering.

A minute later, the EMTs arrived. One of the medics crouched by the body of Andrew Drayton while two other emergency techs converged on Spencer. Finding Drayton dead, the first man proceeded to assist his partners in strapping Spencer to a back-board. O'Hara and Guster moved aside to allow them to work. Then they lifted their burden and rushed for the door, Lassiter, O'Hara, and Gus following in their wake.

0o0o0o0

For the second time in as many days, Henry Spencer found himself sitting in a hospital. This time, both his son and his best friend Gus had been admitted. Gus required twelve stitches to close the gash on his forehead, and three more to deal with another wound on the back of his head. Thankfully, though, those were his only injuries, and his doctor had cleared him to go home. At the moment he was picking up his prescription. Henry knew, however, that Gus had no more intention of leaving than he did. Currently, Shawn was still in surgery. This second attack had resulted in complications to Shawn's earlier injury. At one point in the assault, his broken rib had shifted, puncturing the right lung. In addition to that, he'd nearly been shot, though the bullet had only grazed his temple. But it was the internal damage the doctors were most concerned with.

Henry picked up a magazine, and then dropped it again. He shook his head ruefully. All his life, Shawn had managed to do just the right thing to send his emotional tolerance through the roof. Most of the time, it was through pranks and misdeeds that tested his ability not to lock his son in a closet. Other times… many other times… it was through injury- driving Henry to the point of frantic concern… Dealing with his broken ankle from falling out of a tree-house, patching a laceration he got from washing dishes, and that one time, wondering how a kid could end up needing stitches because he'd somehow gotten impaled by a fork in the school cafeteria.

Twice.

Mostly, however, much as he hated to admit it, it was frustrated disappointment that predominated. Or, at least it used to be. When Shawn announced he was starting up this psychic business, Henry had never felt more like writing off the kid as hopeless. But then he solved a case. And then another. And suddenly… suddenly the police were actually asking for him. And before Henry could even begin to prepare for it, his son had a career! Oh, he never thought it would fly. Not the first two weeks… not even after the first six months. But it had been over a year now. And, grudgingly, Henry was coming to realize this could very well be the real deal.

But now this had happened.

He'd seen what could result when a trained cop, with years on the force, experienced an attack.

Sometimes, they got through it, put it behind them, and went forward.

And sometimes they didn't.

He worried his son might be one of the latter.

"Mr. Spencer?"

He looked up to see Gus walking across the waiting room floor. His head was wrapped in a white bandage, and he was clutching a small bag.

"Any word yet?"

Henry shook his head. "No."

Gus sighed, sitting next to him heavily. They didn't share platitudes with each other. Nothing was said about 'toughness', or 'stubbornness', or 'he wouldn't just to prove us wrong'. Instead, they sat in silence.

It was another hour before a doctor, the same one that had treated Shawn a little over a week ago, approached them wearily. Henry and Gus both stood, the former raising his brows in question.

"He's out of surgery, and is in ICU. Now I know you want to see him, but I want to…"

Henry held up his hand. "Look, doc, I know you'd like to give a rundown of what he's been through and what to expect. But as far as I'm concerned, I've been there and done that, more often than I can count. It's been a long night, and I, for one, am already not looking forward to sleeping on that god-awful cot again. So, if you don't mind, we'd like to see Shawn now."

Pressing his lips together in an understanding smile, the doctor held out his arm. "Right this way."

O0o0o0o0o

A/N: I originally listed this story as M- but the problem with doing that is the story is hidden. So, bravely braving the ratings gods, I adjusted it somewhat so that it could be seen and cringed at by all! LOL!! 

Anyhow, thanks all for your fabulous reviews!!!


	10. I Don't Remember Agreeing To This

Five weeks.

Five.

Damn.

Weeks.

Climbing the walls was an understatement.

Oh, and that wasn't even the best part. Someone, and he didn't know if it was a member of the SBPD, a former member of the SBPD, or a certain MagicHead partner… but someone had thought it was a good idea for him to see a psychiatrist.

For ten sessions.

"Do I look like I need therapy!?"

"Shawn, you're hanging, upside down off the edge of your bed, you tell me."

"Hey Gus!"

His friend set down a paper bag emitting smells of deliciousness. "Let me guess, your doctor told you this would be therapeutic?"

Shawn grinned sheepishly. "Actually, I was bored, decided to try a new spinning air-guitar solo and slipped. And now I can't move."

Gus really had been around him too long because he didn't even blink- just leaned down, grabbed Shawn by the shoulders, and helped him upright again.

As Shawn settled back against his pillow, he glanced at the bag. "Covert lunch number six with extra cheese?"

Gus handed him the bag, grinning conspiratorially.

"And a side order of onion rings."

Gus and Shawn knocked fists as the fake psychic tore open the sack. The heavenly scent of deep-fried onions hit him like nirvana. Grabbing one from the top of the bag, he shoved it in his mouth, gasping and chewing at the same time as it slowly cooked his tongue. At his side, Gus held out a paper cup beaded with moisture. Without a pause, he grabbed it- and mewled and whimpered as the first pull of the straw didn't produce any relief. Sucking harder, he finally got a mouthful of strawberry shake, and tilted his head back happily. He crammed down two more onion rings before turning to his friend.

"So, you gonna break me out?"

Gus snagged a ring, blowing on it delicately before taking a small bite.

"Your doctors told you one more week."

Shawn dropped his jaw, crestfallen.

"Duuuude!"

Gus raised his brows, unaffected, and took another bite of onion ring.

Frowning petulantly, Shawn reached into the bag and pulled out the cheeseburger, taking a giant bite. "I hough ou hah mah bah." He said through a mouthful of burger.

Gus turned down his mouth. "I DO have your back- but your dad threatened to tell my mom about that incident at the zoo when we were eight. My mom Shawn!"

Shawn laughed suddenly, half choking on his bite. "Ha- I think that monkey still has scars!"

"It's not funny Shawn!"

Shawn couldn't help it, he laughed harder. "D- dude, it so t-totally is!" He finally managed some control, swallowing thickly as his body still shook with mirth. Gus sat in silent irritation the entire time, finally grabbing another onion ring and stuffing it in his mouth. Chewing slowly, a strange look came over his face.

Shawn felt sudden disquiet.

"Gus?"

"Hey, did you ever tell your dad about what really happened to his old boat?"

Shawn paled, spitting his mouthful of burger into a napkin. "You- wouldn't- dare…" He said threateningly.

Gus tilted his head.

"Oh, that's a low blow…"

Nurse naughty mouth entered at that point, winking at Shawn while studiously ignoring the fast food in his lap. "Now Mr. Guster, you aren't conspiring to steal away my little boy toy are you?"

Gus smiled smugly, standing as he prepared to leave. "Oh, I don't think you have to worry about that. In fact, the 'Boy Toy' just told me how much he enjoys being here… don't you Shawn."

Shawn glared fiercely. "Guuuss…"

His friend waved, heading for the door. "Have a good day!"

"GUS!"

**One week later**

His apartment was clean.

He was pretty certain it hadn't been cleaned by him…

Gus set down the bag of groceries while Shawn looked around curiously.

"Wow, I didn't know your walls were that color…"

Okay, so it hadn't been cleaned by Gus either.

Entering the kitchen, he flipped up the lid on his garbage, noting the small pair of rubber gloves. Aha! Clearly the sign of someone with little, delicate fingers that were just dying to be run through his hair.

Jules.

He smiled, dropping the lid back down, already planning how to best use that new bit of information.

There was a brief knock at the door, and Gus went to answer it.

Lassiter entered, managing to look incredibly uncomfortable as he stood by the door. "The Chief asked me to pick you up. She figured since Guster has to be to work and your father is home with bronchitis… Anyway, we have about fifteen minutes."

Shawn beamed, walking over to stand next to the other man.

Lassiter leaned away from him warily.

"Lassy! Admit it, you just missed me!"

Gus grinned, his hands in his pockets. "I think you're right Shawn! In fact, I think he wishes he could give you a big hug!"

Shawn held open his arms. "Okay, come on! Who wants squeezies?"

Lassiter pushed his arm away. "Oh grow up! For God's sake Spencer!"

Gus frowned. "Shawn, I could be wrong, but I think you've just been shot down."

Shawn clasped his elbows. "Actually Gus, Lassy and I have a special understanding… a bond of brotherhood you could say… ever since we, you know… pressed lips…" He waggled his brows and batted his lashes expressively at the taller man.

Lassiter jerked back, face reddening. "It's called CPR!" He crossed his arms, fuming. "I knew O'Hara couldn't keep her chatty little mouth shut."

Shawn grinned at Gus over the detective's shoulder.

Evidently feeling he'd had more than his share of antics, Lassiter pulled open the door and stepped into the hall. "I'll be in the car. Whenever you're done with your little sideshow, we can go."

Shawn shrugged. "Well in that case, I guess I'm ready. You'll put away my groceries Buddy? Thanks!"

Without waiting for a response, he followed the detective towards the elevator; Gus's indignant response muted by the door.

0o0o0o0

The drive to the therapist's office took about ten minutes. Even so, Shawn was uncharacteristically quiet the entire time. Pulling up in front of the tall building, Lassiter put the car in park, leaving the engine running.

"I'll be back when you're done. Try not to run over session if you can at all manage it- it isn't as if I enjoy being your damn chauffeur."

Shawn smiled, opening his door. "Aww, you sure Lassy? Come on admit it, part of you likes pretending to be Hoke Colburn."

Lassiter ground his teeth. "What does that make you, Miss Daisy?"

The younger man chuckled softly, leaning to the right. But still he paused, curling his fingers around the door handle. Lassiter was being patient, but it wouldn't last- and he needed to say this. Dropping his smile, Shawn turned back to the detective. "Um… I… I didn't get to tell you before but… well… thanks. You know… for… well for…"

Lassiter turned to face forward, both hands gripping the steering wheel. "Spencer, you have an hour, starting in five minutes. If you're late, the Chief will kick my ass… and then yours."

Shawn nodded, sliding sideways out of the car. Just before he shut the door, he heard a voice from the front seat, almost drowned out by the traffic on the street.

"You're welcome."

Smiling, he turned away, looking up at the building before him.

Just nine more sessions after this. Nine… a good number… manageable. In fact, he could think of it as a challenge… or a suggestion…

He made a personal bet to see if he could lower that number to eight. And if the psychiatrist was a woman…

He wondered if they did sessions at the beach…

Warm sun beating down on his shoulders, grinning widely, he bounced up the steps towards the brick building.

At the top, he turned and took one final look over his shoulder as Lassiter drove away. Then, giving his hair a quick comb-thru with his fingers, he pushed through the doors.

This was going to be interesting.

-END-

0o0o0o0

A/N: Thanks all for sticking along for this one! As a special treat, I will post the sequel to this little story soon! Keep an eye out!

Exclusive preview!!

"**It Isn't The Murder That Kills You, It's The Therapy****"**

Shawn Spencer leaned forward, his expression tense. "What makes you think I'm not a psychic?"

Adrian loosened, feeling himself go automatically into interrogation mode as he tilted his head to the side. "I asked you first."

The 'psychic' closed his eyes, bringing his fingertips to his temples. Adrian jumped when the man suddenly lunged to his feet, jerking around the room as if he was being dragged by something. "Oh no, Gus… Gus, I can't stop it!" Adrian looked on, horrified, and leaned over to Natalie. "What is he doing?" He asked slowly. Natalie just shrugged, shaking her head.

Suddenly Shawn stopped, then whirled, jogging in place. "I… I see… running… you're running… running away? No, no… running toward… something… something good… a ticket? No… a tape? Wait… a finish line! You're a sprinter!" Shawn stopped, his eyes opening mournfully. "But… but you couldn't finish… you quit… even though you loved doing it…"

Adrian glanced at Natalie, who was looking impressed. This was ridiculous… "Oh come on… he could have found that information anywhere!" He raised his hands, waiting for her support. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know Mr. Monk… that was pretty good."

Adrian dropped his arms in frustration. "There is no way this man is a psychic!"

Shawn dropped back into the chair he'd abandoned earlier, looking smug. "Yes I am."

Adrian glared at him. "No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

"I so totally am… and you can't prove I'm not."

Adrian leaned forward, smiling tightly. "Try me."


End file.
